


We Shall All Be Healed

by jilyandbambi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith
Genre: Anakin is Trying His Best™, And neither does Ahsoka, But a Happy Ending for Everyone, Career Mom Padme, Colicky Infants, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Just all the emotions tbh, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Obi-Wan doesn't deserve this shit, Overreaching Monks, Self-Harm, Stay at Home Dad Anakin, Unrequited Love, eventually, we're getting there kids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-07-12 12:38:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7103770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jilyandbambi/pseuds/jilyandbambi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anakin Falls…Then stops, thinks, gets mad, and saves the galaxy. But that doesn’t mean he’s out of hot water just yet. </p><p>Or; Following Palpatine’s assassination, Anakin and Padmé hide out on Naboo to fix their marriage and prepare for parenthood, while the Order hunts for the Fallen Jedi, and Obi-Wan angsts over the fate of his former padawan.</p><p>Or; Yet Another Schmoopy “Everyone Lives” AU that literally no one asked for; in which the most Our Heroes have to contend with are Decades of Emotional Baggage, Overreaching Monks, Unrequited Love, and Colicky Infants. But who’s to say none of that isn’t just as terrifying as a megalomaniacal despot?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nightmares, Heartache, and Lunch

Padmé wakes to the feeling of crisp valley air tickling her face. Her eyes crack open at the sensation and meet the streams of sunlight flowing in through the open balcony. They bounce off the pale gold walls of the room and make everything painfully bright, even with her face now buried deep into her feather down pillows. And thus ends the most restful sleep she’s had in months.

But that was just fine; because it doesn't take her very long at all to realize where she is and how she got there. In fact, she spends a solid fifteen standard seconds basking in the blissful glow of being in her favorite place in all the galaxy, with her favorite person in all the galaxy, before she realizes that the space beside her is cold.

And that’s when she hears the crash.

It’s muffled and far away and really not all that loud, to begin with; but reflex sends Padmé scrambling out of bed and rushing down the hall to confront whatever this next disaster might be.

Upon arriving at the scene of the “disaster,” she breathes a heavy sigh of relief that leaves her winded and sagging against the wall beside her as all of her nightmare scenarios were instantly swept away by the welcome sight in front of her.

Her husband, shirtless. Little beads of perspiration trailing down the taut muscles of his back as he used the Force to levitate a very old and very hefty-looking antique desk out into the hallway. It must have been even heavier than it appeared, as he soon gives up and lets the thing drop and drag along the floor. The awful screech of wood against marble pierces Padmé’s eardrums and makes the baby do several somersaults in protest.Thankfully, Anakin works fast and soon had the desk positioned up against the wall adjacent to the doorway he’d just walked through. Satisfied with his work, he straightened up, raising his arms above his head in a long, languid stretch. Padmé, seeing an opportunity, crept up behind him and trailed her fingertips down the ridges of his spine. 

“You’re up early.”  

Anakin jolted mid-stretch at her touch, his joints snapping audibly as he spun around to face her. He flashed a small ‘good morning’ smile that she returned with a quick peck on the lips. 

“No,” he teased lightly. “ _You’re_ up late. It’s lunchtime.”

Padmé, naturally an early riser, felt her face flush in embarrassment. She pulled back.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

Anakin shrugged in half-hearted apology. 

“You slept the whole way from Coruscant,” he said. “You didn’t even stir when I changed you into your sleep clothes.”

The tiny smile on his lips thinned into a sober line.

“I figured you needed your rest after everything that happened last night,” he said quietly.

Padmé arched a concerned eyebrow. “And you didn’t?” she asked pointedly.

“I did,” he said quickly. His voice halted and stilted in that way it always is when he’s guilty of something. “Sleep, I mean. The Sun woke me up.”

Padmé “hmm’d” knowingly, waiting with bated breath to see whether or not he’d come out with the truth.

“Also…” he said slowly. His eyes shifting to the floor. “I was having dreams…that woke me up…Before the Sun.”

Her brow furrowed in concern. “Were they about me again?” 

“No!” he answered quickly. Too quickly. Earning him another raised eyebrow.

“No,” he said again. “No, they were about…you know… What happened in the Chancellor’s office…”

Padmé felt the probing look on her face intensify as she waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t. Disappointed, but still feeling encouraged, she decided to dig a little more.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked carefully.

“Not really,” he grumbled, stepping away from her and heading back into the room for more furniture.

Padmé moved over to the desk and sat down on top with a frustrated huff. She rubbed her temples tiredly as she watched Anakin peter back and forth with more random articles of furniture, skillfully avoiding her pointed gaze each time he passed her. The baby gave her a sympathetic kick to the bladder.

Bitterly, Padmé wondered if Anakin was self-aware enough to realize that this pattern of behavior was exactly what had led them here. Him, refusing to open up to her; her, letting him go off and sulk instead of trying to help him work through whatever was bothering him. He would come to her when he was ready, she would assure herself during those times. And she was right, he always did. But only after the storm had passed and there was nothing she could do but try to make sense of the wreckage.

Like last night, for example. When Anakin had come barreling into their apartment, all wild eyes, and quivering limbs. He’d practically tumbled into her lap, too keyed up to even speak. And so Padmé had done what she always did when her husband was distraught. Held him. Comforted him. Assured him that everything was going to be alright and that together they could fix whatever had gone wrong. But that familiar tune struck a sour chord as soon as Anakin had calmed down enough to reveal exactly what it was that he had done.

Everything that happened after had passed in a panic-fuelled frenzy for Padmé. Knowing that the Jedi would soon be hot on Anakin’s trail, her only concern had been getting the two of them off-planet as quickly as possible. And while dimly, she could feel the hot coils of anger and horror and uncertainty cloying at the furthest corners of her mind, in those crucial moments, logic and rationality had given way to pure instinct compelling her to get her idiot husband to safety. And after, once they’d reached hyperspace and were, for the moment, home free, Padmé had been so relieved and elated and _exhausted_ that she’d apparently passed out for the rest of the trip.

But she could make time for introspection now that things were settled. And she could start by letting herself acknowledge that one nagging thought that had been hammering away at the hardened shell of her conscience from the moment she’d heard Anakin’s tear-choked confession.

This was her fault.

She had seen Anakin’s Fall coming for years now. Or rather, she _should_ have seen it coming for years now. She, who knew better than anyone just how deep the cracks in her husband’s psyche ran. She, who knew better than anyone how fragile he had been at the onset of the war. She, who knew better than anyone, how every subsequent conflict and crisis Anakin had been embroiled in for the past three years had been chipping away at his already tenuous emotional stability. She, who knew better than anyone of the darkness that lay dormant beneath that delicate band of stability. She, who had been the sole witness to what had happened the last time that darkness had been roused. She, Padmé Amidala, wife of Anakin Skywalker, and the person who loved him most in the galaxy, should have seen this coming and done something to prevent it.

But no. For years now Padmé had deluded herself into believing that every heated outburst or act of recklessness or bought of depression was just Anakin being Anakin. That he had his faults, sure, but so did everyone. And besides, what did it matter so long as the good far outweighed the bad?

Last night had been the answer to that question.

The trouble, she supposed, was that compared to normal couples they’d had so little time to spend together since they’d been married. Especially in these last few months when Anakin had been away fighting in the sieges. But to compensate for the irregularity of their reunions, they made every precious moment they spent together into their wedding night all over again. Nothing but soft kisses, lazy lovemaking, and heartfelt professions of love and devotion. Of course, during those times there had also been some mention of battles and of missions and of Senate bills. They couldn’t ignore the war completely, not when it consumed every aspect of their daily lives. But the tacit, unspoken agreement between the two of them had from the very beginning been that, for them, their marriage was to be a refuge from the burdens of reality. A place where the Senator and the Jedi came to rest. Where there was no war. No Republic. No sacred duty to place before themselves and one another and their happiness. A place where all that mattered was their love. Obviously, this meant that the compromise had to be that the hard stuff, the _real_ stuff—Anakin’s increasing instability, his frustrations with the war and disillusionment with the Order, the toll the lengthy separations were taking on the both of them, the reality that one day they would have to choose between their relationship and their careers—could have no place in their sanctuary.

Only now was Padmé beginning to see just how ridiculous they had been. How selfish and naïve and short-sighted. They were grown adults, for the goddesses’ sake! _Married_ adults, with a child on the way, and for three years they had been treating their relationship like some torrid love affair out of one of those trashy holomovies Anakin loved so much.

Well if nothing else, the events of last night had proven that it was time for their little fantasy to end. Time for them to burst their protective bubble and take responsibility for themselves and for one another. Time for them to start having the sort of conversations they should have been having from the start. Time for them to face the real stuff.

Padmé looked up from her lap to see Anakin coming back out into the hallway, two desk chairs balanced carefully in the air in front of him. He continued to avoid her eyes as he set one chair down carefully beside the desk and stacked the other on top. Before he could escape back into the room, Padmé reached out and grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks. Trapped, he finally deigned to glance back at her.

Now that she had regained his attention, Padmé suddenly found herself unsure of how to proceed. There were so many things she wanted to say to him, she wasn’t quite sure where to start. Her mouth opened, and the words that came out weren’t what she’d intended, to begin with. But they’d do.

“Ani, I’m scared for you.”

He frowned.

“I thought you said it was safe to come to Naboo,” he said. His voice hardening into a tight, panicked edge. “I thought you said no one would come looking for us here.”

“They won’t,” she assured him for what felt like the dozenth time. “Anyway, that wasn’t what I was talking about.”

She tugged him closer, holding his gaze the entire time. Silently willing him not to turn away from her again.

“I want to talk to you about last night,” she began carefully. “What you did. What you almost did. Thinking about it…It frightens me—“

Anakin scowled. “You don’t trust me.”

It was a true testament to the long, tedious years she’d spent training in diplomacy and courtly etiquette that Padmé did not roll her eyes.

“Of course I trust you,” she sighed, growing a tad exasperated. “We wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Momentarily pacified, Anakin shut his mouth, bidding her to continue. She hesitated before starting again, choosing her words carefully so as not to rile him up again.

“I know why you did what you did,” she said softly. “You were hurting. And angry. And confused. You felt like no one except Palpatine was hearing you. You thought he was the only one who could help you help me.”

Anakin nodded earnestly.

“I swear, Padmé,” he said. “I swear to you if I thought there was another way. O-or if I’d had any idea that Palpatine was misleading me, I never would have—“

“But you did,” she moved right over his fumbling attempts at apology. She’d heard them all last night. “And so the only question I have Anakin is, say you didn’t see the truth. Say you went through with your and Palpatine’s plans. Say you did everything he told you to do. Committed every murder, every massacre, every heinous action, and in the end, you became a full-fledged Sith. Say you did all of that, and Palpatine actually did reveal Plagueis’ secrets to you, and you did manage to save me from dying. What then?”

At Anakin’s confused frown, she elaborated.

“What about us? What about _me_? Did you expect me to be _happy_ that you committed this great evil in my name? Did you expect me to be grateful that you helped destroy the Republic? Was I supposed to weep for joy at the prospect of my child being raised by a Sith Lord? How did you honestly expect me to--?

“ _Alive!_ ” Anakin burst out. “I expected you to be _alive,_ alright!”

“And that’s it?” she said flatly. “Just alive.”

Anakin made a strangled noise in the back of his throat and began to pace angrily along the narrow corner at the end of the hallway they were in.

“I don’t know,” he growled, wringing his hands fitfully. “I wasn’t thinking, alright? Is that what you want to hear?! I was stupid and dumb and immature and rash and so so so _stupid_!

 He turned back at her, then. Throwing his arms out in supplication.

“But Padmé, every time I closed my eyes I saw you die. It was exactly the kind of visions I’d had about my mother. I could just feel your life force slip away. I could see myself holding you in my arms as you breathed your last breath, just as I had with my mother. And I just _couldn’t_ -I _couldn’t_ go through that again. I know it was selfish, but I needed you. I _need_ you. I—“

“You needed me,” she said dully. “To the point that it didn’t matter what you had to do or what I myself would have wanted, so long as you had me in the end.”

The truth tastes like ashes in her mouth. But she felt better speaking it aloud. It was something she had known all along about Anakin. How deeply he loved and the lengths he would go to for the sake of it. It was awe inspiring. And overwhelming. And intimidating, at times, to be loved so fiercely, especially when she herself didn’t always know for certain if she would go to the same lengths for him. But suffocating as Anakin’s love could be, it had never actually terrified her as it did now.

“Would it have really been so bad,” he asked. The weakness in his tone belying the fact that he already knew the answer to his own question. “We would still have been together. We wouldn’t have had to run away or hide our love from anyone. We would have been free to remake the galaxy as we saw fit.”

He pleaded for clemency with his entire body. Hands clasped. Face watery and wan. Hunched over and shuddering in that way that always made her want to gather him in her arms and assure him that everything was alright. But she couldn’t give that to him right now. Everything most definitely wasn’t alright. Least of all between the two of them. 

She doesn’t want to say what she’s going to say next. Not least of all because she isn’t sure it’s true, and she’s afraid her words might lack conviction if they aren’t truthful. But Anakin needs to understand the severity of what he almost did, and she doesn’t know any other way to get through to him.

“Do you really think I still would have wanted to be with you, after all that?” she asked quietly. “Honestly, had you gone through with it, I wouldn’t have been able to look at you, much less still love you.”  

The words have their intended effect. Anakin slinks back against the wall and slides down to the floor like a lifeless ragdoll as if her words had ground every bone and muscle in his body to dust. Again, she felt the urge to gather him up in her arms and reassure him that this was all hypothetical. Of course she loved him. Of course she would always love him. There was nothing in this galaxy that he could do to ever earn her hatred or indifference.

She pushed that part of her aside. Those words were harsh, but Anakin needed to hear them. And besides, saying them aloud just now made Padmé feel like maybe they weren’t as false as she’d first thought.   

“I love you, Anakin,” she said softly, purposefully. “Because of who you are. Kind, and generous, and selfless, and brave. You’re a man with principles and morals. Someone who, until very recently I believed would die before betraying the people he cared for. How could I want to be with you, build a life with you, raise a child with you, were you to destroy everything that made you the man I fell in love with?”

Anakin remained silent. He was a pitiful sight, slumped against the wall with his head bowed so far inward he was almost curled in on himself. Padmé didn’t need to be Force sensitive to feel the waves of shame and misery radiating off of him. 

“Casting everything aside—your values, your principles, your teachings, your friends and your comrades—is never worth it, Ani. _I’m_ not worth it.”

Anakin looked up at her, mystified. His eyes brimming with tears and doubt. She went on before he could object.

“You came so close to throwing everything away. Yourself most important of all. That terrifies me, Ani. It sickens me. It’s more than I can bear to watch you destroy yourself.”

She pinned him with a hard, unyielding glare.

“Never again. Especially not for me.”

Anakin looked down again. For a long moment, he sat bowed over in silence. When he looked back up, dry-eyed and purposeful, Padmé was afraid it was to dive into some half-baked rebuttal. Instead, he surprised her by shuffling over to her on his knees and taking her hands into his own. For the first time that day, he looked her directly in the eyes.

“Never again,” he vowed solemnly.

Padmé grinned. Thinking that was the end of it, she made to pull him up off of the floor. He resisted. Clearly, there was more he had to say. 

“You’re all I have left now, Padmé,” he said remorsefully. “You and the baby. I don’t want to lose you, or dishonor you, or fail you. _Either_ of you. I never wanted that. Never, I promise, that was never what I—. Not even when…I just. I got so caught up and—I just-I need you. I do. And I know that I can’t ever let that lead me astray again, and I don’t expect you to ever forgive me if it does. But sometimes I just get so lost. And I need you to be here to point me in the right direction again. Especially now that I’ve lost Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka, and the Order. I just…I need you and the baby to…”

His voice broke. His cheeks streaming with fresh tears. His mouth forming the words he couldn’t get past the lump bobbing in his throat. _Need. Need. Love you so much._ But Padmé had heard enough. She tugged gently on their hands until Anakin stood up, and then she slid down off of the desk and into his arms, pressing herself to his chest.

“I know,” she said. Stroking the tiny curls at the base of his neck in that way she knew always calmed him.  “I know. And I love you and I need you, too, Ani. Don’t think I don’t feel the same way. But I need to be able to trust you.”

“You can,” he promised. “Please, Padmé you can trust me. You know you can. I’ll never do anything I know you won’t approve of ever again, I promise. Please, just—“

“You can’t promise that,” she said, suppressing a chuckle at his innocence. “And, I don’t need you to.”

She pulled back, and placed her hands on the sides of his face, mopping at his wet cheeks with the pads of her thumbs.

“What I need,” she said. “Is for you to stay true to the good man I know you are. I know you’re capable of doing that, Ani, with or without my help. I believe you still know right from wrong. And I think you know all this too. You just have to find your balance again.”

She planted a soft, lingering kiss to his wet lips. When she pulled back, Anakin still looked dubious.

“I’m right here,” she promised, settling herself against his chest. “I’m not going to leave you, and I’m _not_ going to die. And if I believed you weren’t still a good person, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

He relaxed some at her words, the aura of misery surrounding him starting to wane. He took one of her hands in his and pressed butterfly kisses along her knuckles and rested his head atop hers’.

They stayed like that for a while, neither of them saying anything. Padmé felt infinitely better now that they’d had this little chat and had cleared the air. But she could tell that there was still something bothering Anakin. She was just getting ready to start grilling him again when he spoke up.    

“Padmé?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re sure that no one’s going to come looking for us here?”

This time Padmé did roll her eyes. Of all the concerns she’d been expecting him to voice, he’d brought up the least important one.

“As far as anyone knows, I’m taking a seven-month sabbatical at a resort on Corellia,” she reminded him. “I put in the request for leave months ago, as soon as I found out I was pregnant. No one will think it’s suspicious that I left Coruscant the same day you disappeared when I was already supposed to be leaving soon anyway. And even if they do think to check, Sabé is there now in my place.”

“But just say that they do find—“

“It’s not likely.”

“But if they do,” he said insistently. “I think you should deny everything. Tell them you didn’t know anything about what happened with the Chancellor and the Council. Tell them I mind-tricked you into—“

She cuts him off with a sharp swat against his chest.

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Anakin Skywalker,” she hissed.

“I don’t want you to get dragged into my mess,” he said.

“Ani,” she said wearily. “We’re married. Your messes are mine, and vice versa.”

“Your career,” he protested. “If word got out that you’re married to a Jedi—a Fallen one at that. Let alone the one who assassinated the Supreme Chancellor, you’d be—“

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take. I knew that I was jeopardizing my career when I married you. I decided a long time ago that you were worth it.”

“I’m just trying to protect you,” he said, irritation creeping into his voice.

“And _I’m_ trying to protect _you_ ,” she countered. “It was my idea for us to hide out here together, don’t you recall?”

He sighed and wrapped his arms around her again.

“I still don’t like it,” he grumbled. “You should have just let me go off on my own.”

She raised her head and fixed him with a meaningful look.

“Never,” she swore vehemently.

Padmé could tell that this particular argument wouldn’t be won for a long time. But she had had her fill of filibustering for the day, and so made to change the subject before Anakin could continue it.   

“So why the early morning renovation?” 

“It’s lunchtime,” he reminded her and gestured into the cluttered room. “Anyway, this was the room you had picked out, right? The one by the gardens?”

He wrapped an arm around her waist and led her into the room. And Padmé’s attention was immediately drawn to the huge bowed windows on the opposite wall that looked out onto sprawling fields of flowers just below them. Stars, how had she not recognized it until now?

“Oh, Ani,” she breathed, wiping at irksome tears pricking the corners of her eyes. “You remembered…”

“Of course I did,” he said, puffing out his chest. Suddenly all earnest and pleased with himself. “Anyway, since I couldn’t sleep, I figured I might as well get started. I thought I’d move all this stuff out of the way first, and then you could tell me more about what you had in mind.”

He looked down at her, a wide grin plastered across his face. Ecstatic at having gotten something right, and eagerly anticipating further instruction. Padmé, having had months to plan and design the baby’s room down to the last intricate detail, opened her mouth to tell him about the exact shade of buttercream yellow she had picked out for the walls. But before she can get started, her stomach interrupts her with a low growl.

Anakin, still believing himself to be on thin ice, does not laugh. But she does.

“How about lunch first,” she suggests through belly-shaking chuckles.

Anakin shrugged. “I made egg sandwiches a little while ago,” he offered.

“Pair that with some Chadian dressing, and I think you might be on to something.”

Anakin looked horrified, but gave her an indulgent “As my lady commands,” and looped his arm through hers, and together they headed downstairs to the kitchens.

* * *

It hits Obi-Wan like a blaster bolt point blank to the temple. One minute he’s strapping himself into the pilot’s seat of his starship, and the next thing he knows, his vision goes white and his head is on fire. Leaving him slumped over, panting and moaning in agony against the control panel of the cockpit, as icy hot bullets of electricity blaze through his brain like cold fire, singing every nerve in their path. Pounding against his skull like a drum. He feels constricted and scattered all at once, as though Death itself were crushing his head in Its cold, invisible hand.

Cody is at his side in an instant, dragging him out of his seat and onto the floor and shaking him over and over again, crying, _speak to me! Tell me what hurts, General!_

Obi-Wan tries to answer him, but his jaw is locked and his tongue feels rubbery, and all he can do is sputter and flail like a fish on dry land. Cody and a few other clones that have gathered around them look panic-stricken. He can hear running and shouting and arguing and shoving. Were Obi-Wan able to speak, he’d order them all to settle themselves. He’s done what he’d come here to do. Grievous is gone. The Separatists are all but defeated. And they, the clones will carry on in his absence. He is at peace. He’s ready.

Until Anakin’s face flashes in his mind, and Obi-Wan imagines his boy all alone in the galaxy now that both he and Ahsoka have moved on without him. And though molten cords of liquid fire are currently slicing his brain into little chunks of gray matter, Obi-Wan’s heart is holding fast because no, he is not ready. _Anakin_ is not ready.

Mercifully, Obi-Wan does not die there on the floor of the cockpit of his starship. The pain fades almost as instantly as it set in, and aside from the minor injuries he actually did incur while fighting Grievous, physically Obi-Wan feels as good as new.

Strangely enough, though, as soon as the last vestiges of pain leave him Obi-Wan begins to feel…empty, somehow. Like he’s lost something precious to him, although he can’t even begin to guess as to what it could be. But far away in the recesses of his mind, he knows that there is now a void, cavernous and barren. And though he can’t for the life of him discern where it came from or what it once held, Obi-Wan has a very Bad Feeling about it.

It’s not until he arrives back at the Temple, and he finds Master Yoda waiting for him at the entrance to the hangar. Hunched over, grave and Older than Obi-Wan’s ever seen him before, that he knows for sure that something is definitely wrong.

He refuses to believe them when they tell him. There’s just no way. No possible way that this could have happened. Anakin had been pricklier than usual, yes, but that hadn’t been cause for alarm. His former padawan often fell into Moods every now and then. That in no way meant that he was capable of what the Council was accusing him of.

No.

Blast Mace Windu’s word as eye witness. Obi-Wan wouldn’t believe it. He couldn’t. Not until he had hard evidence in front of him.

“If view the holorecording you do, only pain will you find,” Master Yoda cautioned him.

Obi-Wan ignored him. And his eyes.

Because no. That wasn’t his Anakin kneeling at Palpatine’s feet. Pledging himself to the Dark Side, forsaking everything he had been taught and believed in and fought for. That wasn’t his Anakin murdering his Jedi brethren in cold blood. That wasn’t his Anakin choking Mace Windu into unconsciousness. It wasn’t. It wasn’t. _It wasn’t_.  

“The boy you trained, gone he is.”

No.

“I was there, Obi-Wan,” said Mace. “I saw it myself. Do you doubt my word, and what your own eyes tell you is the truth?”

No.

“You realize what this means, don’t you, Obi-Wan,” said Shaak-Ti. “Sidious got to the boy. He’s been turned.”

 _No_. Oh, Anakin, no. No. No. No…It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be. The void. The pain. It would mean that… _No_ , no, please. Anything but that. It couldn’t possibly be...

“Why would he kill the Chancellor, then?” Obi-Wan protested weakly. “Why would he—“

“ _Think_ , Obi-Wan,” Mace gritted through clenched teeth. “Of course Skywalker took out his master at the first opportunity. He’s always been an upstart glory hound!”

‘ _His Master.’_  Just when Obi-Wan thought he’d been completely hollowed, those words come along and scrape out whatever’s left of him.

“But then why would he leave you alive?”

“Don’t ask me to make sense of a Sith’s logic,” Mace waved his hand impatiently. “Least of all that boy’s. You’re the only one who’s ever been able to get inside his head.”

“For all we know it could have just been for show,” Ki-Adi-Mundi’s hologram chimed in. “Sidious may not even be gone. He could have faked his death and be hiding out in some remote system right now, waiting for Skywalker to rejoin him—”

His tirade was cut short by the sharp clang of Yoda’s cane against the floor reverberating throughout the Council’s chambers.

“No time for suspicion,” the Grand Master snapped. “Rational, we must be.”

He leaned pensively over his cane.

“Count Dooku, gone. Darth Sidious, gone. General Grievous, gone. Without a military leader, the Separatists are. Vulnerable, they are.” His eyes shifted to Obi-Wan. “Open to negotiations they will be.”

Obi-Wan avoided him, his head spinning. No. How could they—It was too— _Anakin was missing_ —How could they expect him to just—

“Any idea of where Skywalker could be, have you?”

He shook his head miserably. For the first time in longer than Obi-Wan can recall, Anakin’s presence was completely out of his reach.

“Severed his bond with you, Skywalker has,” Yoda says knowingly.

Having the truth spoken aloud for every member of the Council to hear leaves Obi-Wan gutted and numb. He hides his face in his hands. Too ashamed to even look at the Grand Master any longer.

But then there was a soft touch on his knee, and he lowered his hands to find Yoda’s all-seeing eyes boring into his.  

“Much work, there is still to do,” he said. Brisk, but not unkind. “To the Mustafar system, you will go. Others will search for Skywalker. Too close, you are. Lost, he is. Let him go, you must.”

Obi-Wan, raw and gutted and _tired_ in a way he has never been before, just nods. Bitterly, he wonders if this is only just a mission, or a poorly veiled temporary exile so that they can hunt Anakin down without his interference. Yoda’s hand tightens for a second—only a second, but just long enough for Obi-Wan to catch his eye to find the condolence there. Chastised, he throws the mutinous thought away and reminds himself that if anyone understands the pain he’s going through right now, it’s Yoda.

He casts a final glance around the room, and notices for the first time the stares at once both pitying and incriminating directed at him from every pair of eyes in the room.

Humiliated, Obi-Wan stands and pulls the hood of his robe over his head, gathers together the shreds of his dignity, and leaves the Council chambers, and Coruscant as swiftly as he can.

* * *

 _“Go now, Lord Vader. Do what must be done. Do not hesitate.”_

_“Yes, Master.”_

_The words fall from Anakin—now Vader’s lips before he can catch them. The perverse sneer of triumph he sees slide across Sidious’ face as soon as they’re spoken makes him want to gag. But Vader swallows the urge and rises to carry out his new Master’s orders._

_And that’s when it starts. This irritating voice that rings in his ears like a siren, doing its best to distract him, to weaken his resolve. Whispering to him over and over again that this is Wrong. That he will soon regret betraying Obi-Wan and the Order and the Republic and himself. As if he doesn’t already know._

_Quiet. He tells it. I have to do this. I_ have _to. I can’t let Padmé die._

_You’re missing something, it answers back. You can’t even see it. Palpatine and his promises have blinded you._

_Vader shrugs it off and focuses on the mission._

_As expected, Mace Windu orders him to stay behind while he and the other “more experienced” members of the Council go to confront the Chancellor. Typical._

_But Vader is strong with the powers the Dark Side have bestowed upon him. He won’t be cowed like his old self would have been. He has a new Master now. He doesn’t have to take orders from these pompous navel-gazers anymore. He asserts himself and wins._

_The situation is dire; the other masters tell Windu. There’s no time to argue. And so they allow Vader to come along. Unknowingly sealing their fate._

_You’re missing something, the Voice warns him again._

_Vader won’t hear it. He can’t afford to. Because now he’s standing in the middle of the Chancellor’s office, and it’s time for him to prove himself._

_Do not hesitate. This is the only way, his Master’s voice—or is it his own?—whispers in his head._

_His Master sends him a Look, and Vader puts his saber straight through Saesee Tiln’s chest. The three remaining Jedi barely have time to process what has just happened before Agen Kolar and Kit Fisto are also cut down._

_And Vader, he’d been expecting this to be easy. Tiln, Kolar, and Fisto are old, tired. Sluggish. No match for him. He’d known from the start that they stood no chance against him. But he hadn’t been expecting it to feel so_ good _. The looks of surprise and horror on their faces. Their fear. Their resignation. It sends shockwaves of pleasure surging through his veins. Vader lets it flow. Let's take him over. He can feel his Master’s approval and it makes him hungry for more. He needs more._

_Luckily, one still remains._

_Mace Windu’s stony expression says all too plainly that he’s seen this coming all along. The Jedi’s vindication makes Vader’s blood boil. It’s not fair of Windu to have expected this as if this is what Vader has wanted all along._ They _did this. They left him no other choice. This is not a betrayal; it’s an act of love. Can’t they see? It’s for Padmé. It’s for Padmé. It’s for_ Padmé _. Why does no one understand?!_

 _You’re missing something, the Voice whispers from somewhere far away._

_Windu’s stance is guarded. His focus split between Vader and his Master. Dread and righteous fury waft off of him and Vader sinks his teeth in and savors it like he would a trim bantha steak. He is the master now._ He _has all the power. There is no way for Windu to win and he knows it. Knows that he will soon be joining his fallen brethren and that there’s nothing he can do to save himself. And he’s afraid, Vader thinks triumphantly. What of all your teachings, now, he mocks silently. There is no fear, remember? Just release it into the Force._

_Vader can feel his Master watching him from the sidelines, growing increasingly impatient. Urging him to hurry and dispose of this last one so that they can carry on with their plans. Vader heeds his Master’s command, and slowly inches toward his prey._

_But before he can make his move, Windu relaxes his stance and deactivates his saber._

_“Before we do this,” he says. “I just need to know how long. How long have you been plotting your betrayal, Skywalker? Have the Sith had their claws tangled up in you from the moment you landed on Coruscant all those years ago?”_

_Vader burns with fury and mortification but remains silent. His weaker former self would have bitten back at the old master’s baiting, but Vader has his eyes on the prize. His Master is eager to see what he can do, and Vader is eager to show him. He readies himself, waiting for Windu to make the first move. But his Master has grown wary of his dalliance._

_“Now is your chance, Lord Vader,” his voice whispers into Vader’s mind. “Make your move, and prove that you have embraced the Dark. It is the only way you will earn the power to save Padmé and your child from your visions.”_

_At his Master’s warning, Padmé’s tear streaked face flashes in his mind. And Vader’s hands tighten around the hilt of his saber. He readies himself to attack and—_

_YOU’RE MISSING SOMETHING_

_No, he_ isn’t! _He’s seeing clearly for the first time in what feels like forever. The Jedi have been holding him back all this time, and the Dark Side is going to free him. He’s going to have everything he ever wanted. Padmé, a family. A life. Love. Respect. Peace. He just has to complete these small, simple tests and then his Master will show him the way to save his wife and child, and—_

 _And the world around him suddenly bursts in a whirlwind of light and color as the shroud that had been clouding his vision for so long finally lifts. And now,_ now _he is truly seeing things clearly, as he asks himself the question he should have asked several days ago._

_Padmé. His visions._

_How does Sidious know about Padmé? How did he know about the dreams? How did he know that Padmé needed to be saved… when Vader has never even once told him anything about her…?_

_Anakin’s blood runs cold. He sees red. He lunges. He strikes. And Palpatine crumples to the floor._

_If Mace Windu is caught off guard, he predictably doesn’t show it. He stands stock still and saber raised above his head, ready to strike Anakin down._

_He doesn’t get the chance._

_With a wave of his hand, Anakin sends the Jedi’s saber flying through the wall behind him. And then he raises his other hand, curling it into a tight fist. The Jedi struggles against his grip. He fails and falls._

_And Anakin runs._

He wakes drenched in a cold sweat.

His heart races in his chest, his head snaps from side to side as he takes in several desperate gulps of air. The blankets he’s wrapped in are hot and irritating against his skin. Suffocating him. He tries to brush them off, but his limbs feel like they’re bolted down by durasteel weights, his muscles and tendons all stiff and swollen. For a few terrifying moments, he wonders if this isn’t another panic attack, but that he’s been stunned. That the Jedi or one of Palpatine’s other cronies have found them, and are here to take them before the Council or the Senate to stand trial. Or worse.

Padmé’s gentle breathing brings Anakin back to reality. He feels around for any hint of an unfamiliar Force signature and finds nothing. The night air is still and silent. They are safe.

His limbs start to loosen as he slowly comes back to himself. Gingerly, so as not to disturb Padmé, he lifts up the covers, exposing his clammy skin to the cool night air. His body is free, but his mind remains locked in the prison of his own memories. As it has been all day.

He closes his eyes and watches himself submit to Palpatine and his depravity. He opens them and sees the broken bodies of the Jedi he slew. He exhausts himself with preparations for the baby’s nursery and any joy he feels gets sucked into the deep, vacuous hole where Obi-Wan should be. He fixes Padmé lunch and remembers the look on her face when he’d first told her what he’d done. And on and on and on in a hellish, never-ending loop. Bringing with them not only retribution and regret but also more uncertainty.   

 _Have the Sith had their claws tangled up in you from the moment you landed on Coruscant all those years ago?_  

More than likely.

Thinking back on every interaction he’d had with Palpatine with the enhanced lens of hindsight made Anakin tremble with revulsion.

It shamed him beyond the telling of it to know that every time the Chancellor had offered him praise, or guidance, or a friendly, compassionate ear, it had all been under the guise of grooming him for his eventual Fall. Ever since he’d been a little boy, newly freed from the deserts of Tatooine, the Chancellor had been there in his ear. Stoking the fires of his anger and resentment. Twisting his Jedi teachings. Sewing doubt and restlessness.

Planting visions…

It unnerved Anakin that even now he still had trouble differentiating between the thoughts that were purely his own, and the ones that were there because of Palpatine’s manipulations. Or had he been under his thumb so long that they were now one and the same? _Had_ the Chancellor really been responsible for his dreams? Or was that just Anakin’s paranoia getting the better of him again. Was the Sith so powerful that he could see Anakin’s thoughts and worries as plainly as if they were being broadcast on the nightly holonews? Or did he know about them because he put them there? _Had_ Anakin really submitted to the Dark Side all on his own? Or did Palpatine use Sith magic to push him over the edge?

Well, he knew the answer to that last one at least. But that only opened the door to even more questions.

He had seen the truth of Palpatine on his own, but did that really mean he was free from the pull of the Dark Side for good? Padmé seemed to think so, and Anakin wanted so badly to believe her. To have the same wholehearted faith in whatever goodness she saw in him. But how could he, when he could still so vividly recall the pleasure he’d felt while murdering his fellow Jedi?

Normally, he would go to Obi-Wan about all this. He _needs_ to talk to Obi-Wan about all of this. But a naïve stretch into that empty space in the Force where his Master once dwelt reminds Anakin that he no longer deserves the comfort of their bond, not when he’d gone to such despicable lengths to destroy it.  

He may have found sanctuary on Naboo and absolution in Padmé’s arms, but Anakin knows he would be a fool to think that he won't be paying for his crimes for the rest of his life, in one way or another. And Anakin's done playing the part of the fool.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did no one else ever find it weird that Palpatine revealed himself as the Sith Lord and then just…let Anakin leave? Like, wouldn’t it have been much more efficient to turn him at that point? What if he hadn’t come back with Windu et. al? Could have been a missed opportunity is all I’m saying. 
> 
> Also, it’s been a while since I’ve seen RotS, but I’m pretty sure that nowhere did Anakin ever explicitly say to Palpatine that he was married and expecting a child. Personally, I always liked the theory that Sidious planted those visions in Anakin’s mind to psych him out. It certainly explains how he knew about them in canon in the first place. So that’s the conclusion that Anakin comes to in this story. I’m not sure if Sith actually have the power to plant visions but...ehhhh suspend your disbelief (please?). 
> 
> Anyway, another thing that’s always bothered me is that Padmé was planning to turn the Lake House into her’s and Anakin’s actual home. But like…didn’t it belong to her family, not just her? Wouldn’t they be a little put out that she just sort of commandeered the family vacation home…? Idk. Let’s just agree that in this universe Jobal and Ruwee gave Padmé Varykino as a reward for becoming Queen or something. 
> 
> Last thing. I realize that it might seem strange that Obi-Wan’s thought process wouldn’t be Anakin’s missing-->check with Padmé. But he’s not exactly thinking clearly atm, and Yoda and the Council sort of took over before he could get his bearings. Once the initial shock wears off, he’ll be back to his normal, critically thinking self. 
> 
> Last, Last thing. For those of you reading Menace, don’t worry. It’s not abandoned. I’m editing Ch 7 now. :)
> 
> Comments and kudos are love and improve my typing speed by 100000%. It's a scientifically proven fact. just sayin'


	2. Beginnings, Paths, and Searching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all of your comments and kudos. Your feedback really does mean everything to me.

The gray cement walls are crumbling and bare save for the cracks that had been haphazardly spackled over with cheap paint. The “kitchen” came with a mini-fridge that was, at the moment, empty, save for some bread and a package of overripe veggies; a stove with only two working burners; an oven that she had made the mistake of using once, and only once; and a sink with a broken faucet that grudgingly drizzled out cold water, on a good day. In the opposite corner of the room there was a toilet, and a shower head with water pressure so bad that some days it was less stressful to just fill a bucket with water and dump it over herself. The room’s only window didn’t shut all the way, and faced an alley that, due to the skyscraper that towered over the building, was dark at all hours of the day.  

Look, it’s a pit, alright? Ahsoka knows that. But it’s hers’…sort of.

The plan, initially had been to hop a transport to her homeworld and find her parents, or at least somebody who knew them. But you needed credits for a ride on a transport, and her account had been frozen as soon as she’d made her decision to leave the Order.

The breakdown of that brilliant scheme had left her stranded, with no plan B, and a smidge— _just a_ _smidge_ —of regret at leaving the Order ~~and more importantly, Anakin~~ behind in the first place. But she had made up her mind and it would be a cold day in Sithhell when she went crawling back with her tail between her legs. Lost, broke, and alone in more ways than one, Ahsoka still had her pride and the lessons her Master— _former_ Master—had taught her. They were enough to make this work. They’d have to be.  

All told, spending two nights sleeping on the streets of the Lower Levels of Coruscant hadn’t been the _worst_ thing she has ever endured, not even close. But needless to say that it had been a real wake up call as to the harsh reality of what “making it work” was really going to mean. It meant finding a job at the first place that would take her so that she could afford to eat again. It meant talking her new boss, Zeb, into letting her stay in the room above his cantina in exchange for taking rent out of her pay. It meant learning how to grocery shop. How to cook on a barely-functioning stove. How to convince Zeb to not fire her for breaking the hand of that disgusting Zabrak who had groped her. It meant learning that the galaxy was a much, much harder place to be in on her own than she’d ever thought it would be.

But she had done it. Survived. Made her own way, all on her own. And maybe that would mean nothing to the Council, who’d treated her resignation with nothing less than their trademark indifference. Maybe it meant nothing to the gross patrons of the cantina who liked to jeer at her and make lewd gestures while she bussed their tables. But it meant something to Ahsoka. It meant everything. 

Which was why she most definitely did _not_ appreciate the disparaging scowl Obi-Wan was giving her room.

How had he even found her, anyway? The whole point of finding a job and a place to live in this section of the Lower Levels was to get as far away from anyone from her old life as possible. And yet here Obi-Wan had come completely out of the blue, knocking on her door all nonchalant and obvious. Like it was no big deal that he had found her in exactly the last place she’d wanted anyone to look.

After nearly half a year of no contact between her and any member of the Order, Ahsoka was sure he didn’t come all the way down here to grimace at the exposed wiring along the ceiling. There had to be something important going on. And since he was too busy mentally cataloguing every building code violation in her home to tell her what it was, she’d just have to drag it out of him herself.

“Erm,” she began awkwardly. Drumming her fingertips against the wobbly kitchen table they were sitting at. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, Obi-Wan. It’s just I have to get up early for my shift tomorrow, so…”

“Right,” he said, clearing his throat. “I…This is very difficult. I’m not sure where to begin, exactly—First off, I’m very happy to see you too, Ahsoka. It’s been too long, I…I’ve missed you.”

Caught off guard by Obi-Wan’s discomposure, Ahsoka took a moment to actually look at her former master’s former master. _Really_ look at him.

Even with the dim lighting coming from the single light bulb dangling overhead, she could clearly make out the bags under his eyes. His normally well-kept beard looked scragglier than usual. His clothes were all rumpled as if he had been sleeping in them for a week straight. And his robe hung off his shoulders and bunched at the sleeves. As if he’d recently lost a lot of weight. What in the galaxy was going on to make Obi-Wan—Obi-Wan Kenobi, the dictionary definition of Balance, and the epitome of Jedi-dom neglect himself to this extent?

“Ahsoka,” he started again. “Has anyone…been to see you at all?”

She blinked. That was a strange place to begin. “Besides, you? No. Why?”

“You’re sure? No one at all?” he pressed. “Have you noticed anyone following you?”

“No,” she said. Actually starting to get antsy now. “Obi-Wan you’re making me nervous. What’s going on?”

“Have you been following the news at all?” he asked. “Do you know about what’s been happening with the Chancellor and the senate?”

“You mean do I know that the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic was assassinated in his office a week and a half ago?” Ahsoka snorted. “Yeah, I think I might have caught that.”

Obi-Wan tensed.

“Have you heard anything else besides that?”

She shivered, and nodded.

“All that stuff about everything the Chancellor had been planning. H…how he had been using the war to destabilize the Republic. How he’d been playing both sides, leading the Separatists as Darth Sidious the entire time…How…How he was going t-to…”

She can’t even bring herself to think that last part, much less voice it. For all that the Jedi had turned their backs on her, they had been her family for the first decade of her life. To think that they could have all just been…annihilated like that. And by the _clones_ , no less. The thought of Rex and Cody and Jesse and… _everyone_ suddenly turning against her like that. It was too much to bear.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said gravely. “But have you heard anything else?”

Her eyes narrowed. Enough with the guessing games. She really did have an early shift tomorrow. Could he just come out and say what it was he wanted to know, already!

“Like what?”

“Like, who may have been behind the Chancellor’s assassination?”

Ahsoka shook her head. No. For all the fuss that had been made about the Chancellor’s death and the Jedi’s subsequent investigation, the Order had been playing things relatively close to the chest. A bone of contention both in the senate, and in the eyes of the general public.

“No.”

“Good,” Obi-Wan said. But the relief did not reach his eyes.

“Good,” he said again. “I didn’t want you to have to find out from anyone else…”

“Find out what?” Ahsoka asked. Dread slowly creeping into her heart. Again, she looked over at Obi-Wan. Somehow he looked even more haggard than he had just a few moments ago. Whatever it was that could make Obi-Wan look this drained, this defeated, it had to be something horrible. Something that had to do with…Oh no… _oh no_ …

“Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan whispers on the weariest breath that she has ever heard come from him. “It was Anakin who did it.”

And before Ahsoka can jump up and yell _No, that’s impossible! That’s **crazy**!_ Obi-Wan raises his hand, silently bidding her to sit and hear the full story from him before jumping to conclusions. Years of Temple etiquette compel Ahsoka to obey. But once he’s finished—

“ _No_! That’s impossible! That’s _crazy_! You’re—“

“I didn’t want to believe it either, Ahsoka. I wouldn’t have, had I not seen the recordings, but—“

“ _No_!”

“Ahsoka, please—“

“ _No_!” she shot up from the table so fast she nearly toppled it over, and retreated to one of the far corners of the room. She clasped her hands over her montrals like a child. Refusing to listen to any more of Obi-Wan’s poodoo.

He allows her thirty full seconds to have her tantrum, before coming over to her side and pulling her hands away.

“Ahsoka, listen to me,” he begged her. “ _Please_. The Order may be keeping Anakin’s Fall from the public for now. But make no mistake, they’ve been scouring the galaxy for him ever since that night.”

“ _You’re_ scouring the galaxy for him,” she cried. “That’s why you came here, isn’t it? To see if I’ve seen him. The Jedi sent you to kill him! You’re going to—“

He drops her hands as if she’d burned him, and that shuts Ahsoka up faster than if he’d slapped her. And she knows, she _knows_ that once a Jedi turns to the Dark Side, there’s nothing that can be done to save them. That for the good of the galaxy a Fallen Jedi has to be destroyed. But this is _Anakin_. _Their_ Anakin. Her’s and his. How can he possibly be okay with having to hunt him down? How can he think she’d help him do it? How—

“I’m not,” he said quietly. “I’m not hunting him down. Master Yoda assigned others to do that. He believed I was too…attached to be trusted with such an important task.”

He turned his back to her, and went to stand over by the stove. His hands clenching the edges of the stovetop so hard she was afraid it would crack under his grip. Ahsoka felt her stomach drop for the second time that night as the realization suddenly dawned on her.

“You’re trying to help him,” she whispered.

Obi-Wan went rigid. “Not…not _help_ ,” he choked.

“There is no helping him,” he said in a low, raspy voice. “He’s lost.”

Ahsoka’s frown pulled deeper. “But you don’t want the others to find him.”

“No.”

The word was whispered so faintly Ahsoka almost thought it was just wishful thinking. Obi-Wan’s head hung low, as though he could no longer hold it up under the shame of his confliction.  

She moved over to him, reaching a hand out to touch his back. “Obi-Wan…”

“Ahsoka,” he said, sharply turning around to grip her forearms. “I know what you’re going to try to do, and you mustn’t. You can’t help him.”

She opened her mouth to ask how he’d known what she was going to do before she’d even thought it up. But decided to save her breath, because of course he knew. Obi-Wan always knows.

“Bu-but you said,” she swallowed thickly. “You said he killed the Chancellor after he finished with K-Kit Fisto and the o-others.”

Though she’s accepted it, speaking the truth burns Ahsoka’s tongue. Obi-Wan nodded.

“So then maybe—“

“Don’t go entertaining fantasies, Ahsoka. You aren’t a youngling anymore,” he said sternly. “You know what happens when a Jedi fully embraces the Dark Side.”

Frankly, Ahsoka wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her, or the both of them. But while he may still be trying to bully himself into acceptance, she wasn’t going to waste time kidding herself.

“No!” she cried. Resisting the urge to stamp her foot. “I won’t accept that! If Anakin got rid of the Chancellor and left Master Windu alive, then there _must_ be some—“

“ _He’s lost_ , Ahsoka—“

“Only because we haven’t found him, yet!”

“We wouldn’t even know where to look!”

“We could start with Senator Amidala!”

He clipped his mouth shut and looked away, guiltily. “She’s on Corellia,” he mumbled.

Ahsoka smirked triumphantly. “So you _have_ been looking for him.”

He huffed a sigh, and looked down at the floor. Trapped in his hypocrisy.

“Her’s was the first place I checked,” he admitted reluctantly. “Right after I got back from Mustafar. Her apartments were vacated when I got there. So I went to see her Chief of Staff who told me that she had left a few days prior to take sabbatical at a resort on Corellia. When they found out, the Council sent a team of seven out there to question her and to see if Anakin was nearby. But they found nothing. Just Padmé there alone, save for her handmaidens.”

“You _told them_ ,” Ahsoka seethed. Feeling betrayed, though she knew she had no right to be angry with Obi-Wan for doing the right thing. And yet…

“No,” he said, shamefaced. “They followed me to her office.”

He placed his hands on her shoulders, prodding her to look up at him.

“And that’s why you can’t go looking for him, Ahsoka,” he said urgently. “You were his padawan. They’re watching you. They’ll know if you’re in contact with him, or if you’ve somehow got a clue as to where he might be.”

“You really don’t want him to be found,” she marveled, not quite knowing what to make of all this. “Even after all he’s done, you still…“

Obi-Wan closed his eyes mournfully, and let go of her again. “It’s better that he stays lost,” he said in a small voice. Then straightened up.

“It’s late,” he said. “I’ve been here too long. You’ve got an early shift tomorrow.”

Ahsoka nods, and leads him to the door. Before he can pass through, though, a random thought strikes her.

“You’re not going back to the Temple, are you?”

He stops mid-step, his face stricken. As if he absolutely cannot believe he could be so transparent.

“They’re not exiling you for this, are they?” she asked, suddenly very afraid for him. 

At the end of the day, Ahsoka’s glad she left the Order. For a lot of reasons, not just because of what happened with Barriss and the trial. But Obi-Wan couldn’t leave. Being a Jedi was his entire life. He wasn’t just a Jedi; he was The Jedi. They couldn’t kick him out. The Order meant everything to him.  

“No,” he said sadly. “And I’ve not left the Order. I just…need some space. Being there is…”

He trailed off. Once again closing his eyes and hanging his head. It made Ahsoka’s heart ache to see him looking so alone. She set her hand on his back. It trembled.

“Well,” he said softly. “I think I would do well to take a sabbatical myself.”

He gave her a wry smile, placing a hand on her shoulder again, and squeezing.

“Be well, Ahsoka,” he said gently. And with one last scathing glance around her apartment, added, “Please, _please_ do take care of yourself.”

“I will,” she smiled back somberly. “You also, Master. May the Force be with you.”

He nodded. “And with you, young one.” He paused, and then gave her a familiar Look. And said, “Remember what I said about Anakin.”

And Ahsoka does.

For about a week.

And then the next thing she knows she’s packing a bag and boarding a transport for Corellia. She spends the entire trip looking over her shoulder. But it all turns out to have been for nothing. Because there are no Jedi there when she arrives. And neither is there a certain senator from Naboo.

Sabé, Eirtaé, Teckla, Motée, and Dormé are all sworn to secrecy. Flat out refusing to give up their mistress’s secret location. No amount of wheedling, or bargaining, or pleading can make them tell her where Anakin or Padmé are. Just that they’re alive. They’re safe. And that they wouldn’t want her to worry. As if that was enough.

But Ahsoka knows when she’s beaten. And truthfully, she can’t fault them for their unflinching loyalty to Padmé. She’d do the same for Anakin. Without question. Which is why she can’t let this go.

She offers to clean the ‘freshers on the transport leaving Corellia, and in exchange the captain takes pity on her and grants her free passage to Kashyyk. And from there, she goes to Ithor. And then Dantooine, Rodia, Xo, and then finally, Tatooine. Where, incidentally, she runs into Obi-Wan, who has taken up residence in a small hut near a homestead just outside Mos Epsa.

But no Anakin.

Frustrated beyond belief, but not even close to giving up, Ahsoka (against Obi-Wan’s vehement protests), gets a job at yet another cantina in order to earn enough funds to hop the next transport to Mandalore. It’s a stretch, but Ahsoka’s got absolutely zero leads on Anakin’s whereabouts, and so she’s resolved herself to having to comb every corner of the galaxy til she finds her Master.

Because before, she’d had her whole stupid life ahead of her, and no kriffing clue as to what she was going to do with it. It’s horribly selfish, Ahsoka knows this, but Anakin’s disappearance has given her direction again. Purpose. A goal to strive for. Her Master is out there somewhere. Lost, probably not alone, but needing her just the same. And Ahsoka is not going to fail him again. She will find him, and let him know that there’s still one—or maybe one _more_ person in this galaxy who will never give up on him.

 But she ends up not having to.

Because three days into her stint at the cantina in Mos Epsa, something hits her, and it isn’t the glass the drunken Toydarian chucked at her for being too slow with his refill.

No. It’s something powerful. Exhilarating. Exalting. More powerful than happiness. More invigorating than elation. More tangible than joy.

It’s an emotion with no name, because it’s a memory. It’s Master Plo taking her by the hand and bringing her to the Temple. It’s snuggling closer to the other younglings in the crèche at sleeptime. It’s finally, _finally_ being chosen by a Master after watching everyone else in her class pass her by. It’s having Anakin at her side, steadfast and vigilant, even when everyone else had deserted her after the bombing. It’s a place she hasn’t been to, a sight she hasn’t seen, and a feeling she hasn’t felt in what seems like a lifetime. And it tells Ahsoka exactly where to go.

* * *

“… _pled “not guilty” at his arraignment today. The move left many legal experts stunned and scratching their heads. ‘It would have been a much wiser move on the former Vice Chancellor’s part to accept the War Tribunal’s plea deal of life imprisonment in exchange for giving up the rest of his and the former Supreme Chancellor’s co-conspirators,’ says retired attorney and legal analyst Herran Caballa. According to Attorney Caballa, as new evidence of former Chancellor Palpatine’s collaboration with the Confederacy of Independent Systems comes to light, the chances of Mr. Amedda being exonerated for allegedly taking part in this act of treason are looking less and less likely. However, Mr. Amedda claims that…”_

Tap

_“Tensions in the capital remain at an all time high, as members of the Galactic Senate scramble to elect an Interim Chancellor to fill the vacancy left by former Supreme Chancellor Palpatine until proper elections can be held. As it stands right now, the vote is more or less split between Mon Monthma, Senator from Chandrila, and Ulon Prine, Senator from Ganthal. Political pundits believe that Senator Prine’s affiliation with the Nakadia child prostitution scandal several years ago, may indeed tip the scales ever so slightly in Senator Monthma’s favor. Opponents of Monthma, however, have voiced concern over her record of advocating for diplomacy over the use of force. Many in Senator Prine’s camp have voiced their  fear that Monthma and her supporters will be too lenient on the Confederacy of Independent Systems in an effort to bring the Separatists back into the Republic’s fold. While…”_

Tap. 

_“…representatives for the Jedi Council had little to say this afternoon at the press conference held on the steps of the Jedi Temple. Amid fervent public outcry, the Order has remained silent about the identity of the mysterious assassin who slew the Supreme Chancellor and three Jedi Masters three weeks ago. However, the High Council does claim to have several leads as to this being’s whereabouts. But there are some, both in and outside of the Senate who accuse the Jedi Council of staging a cover up. Other, more zealous theorists claim the entire story is fabricated, and that Chancellor Palpatine’s assassination was part of a conspiracy backed by ‘Loyalists’ in the Senate to have the Jedi Order seize control of the Republic, and end the war on ‘peaceful’ terms. The Jedi’s refusal to answer the public’s call to ‘Release The Tapes,’ and reveal the truth of what happened that night do little to help discredit this theory. However…”_

Tap.

 _“…War Tribunal headed by Admiral Tarkin struck down a new proposal by Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan to decommission the Clone Army, and begin steps to transition the billion clones created for the war effort into Republic society. Admiral Tarkin argued that—“_

“You’re trembling.”

The sound of Anakin’s voice nearly spooked Padmé out of her skin. She whirled around to find him looking worriedly up at her through bleary, half-lidded eyes.

“I thought you were asleep,” she said. He should be, by all rights.

He had spent today as he had spent every day since their coming to Naboo three weeks ago; fixing up the baby’s room. They both wanted the nursery to be absolutely perfect. But, in typical Anakin fashion, he had quickly become fixated on his little renovation project.

His every waking moment from morning until dinnertime was spent in that room, painting, building, arranging and rearranging. So much so that by the end of the day, he had no energy left to do anything but crawl into bed beside her.

But none of this worried Padmé, because she knew that Anakin was at his best when he was working with his hands. It calmed him. Allowed him to work out his feelings in a way that talking them through never really did. And indeed, spending all that time working on the baby’s room was having a marked improvement on his overall demeanor. He was calmer. Less prone to bouts of anger and self-pity. And more willing to open up to her when he did slip into these moods. Plus, the work wore him out, which meant he got a lot more sleep now than perhaps he’s had in years.

Anakin took her datapad from her protesting hands, and shifted so that he was now sitting up against the headboard, pulling her up with him.

“What’s wrong,” he said, his voice thick and gravelly with sleep. She exhaled a deep breath through her nose.

“ _Ani…”_ she groaned into his chest. “Everything is terrible.”

“I thought that was my line,” he teased.

She hit him lightly on the chest with the back of her fist. “No poking fun. This is serious.”

He leaned down and gave her an apologetic kiss on the corner of her mouth, rubbing his hands soothingly up and down her arms. “What’s serious?” he asked again.

“ _Everything_!”

“Like…?”

“Like, the fact that the Senate can’t pull itself together long enough to elect an Interim Chancellor. Like the fact that Mon’s opponent is a suspected pedophile who has been brought up on racketeering charges no less than eight times during his ten year career in the Senate, and people are actually taking him seriously. Like the fact that we’re even wasting time and tax payer credits with a trial for Mas Amedda, when there’s a literal _mountain_ of evidence implicating both him and the rest of Palpatine’s cabinet in his conspiracy to slaughter the Jedi and overthrow the Republic. Like the fact that we can waste resources on that vial of bantha piss, but Stars forbid if we spend even a single credit on refugee resettlement or integrating the Clones into civilian life. Like the fact that there are still over a billion clones out there right now with a dormant genocide command planted in their brains, that no one has even _mentioned_ removing because the Senate is too busy cannibalizing itself with cronyism and petty agendas. Like the fact that there are really people out there who _actually_ believe with their actual brains that the Jedi would ever try to overthrow the Republic. Like the fact that our entire system of government—the government that we’ve all fought so hard to preserve, the government that you and Obi-Wan and Ahsoka and rest of the Jedi fought _so hard_ to preserve—is falling apart at the seams, and everyone’s too busy cowing to careerism and media sensationalism to _do_ anything about it!”

All of this came out in one long breath, and by the end, Padmé was too steamed up to take another. She flopped back against Anakin’s chest, and his hands came up to wipe the angry tears from her cheeks. But Padmé batted them away because her skin was on fire, and he was entirely too warm. Undeterred, he wrapped his arms around her middle, and brought her even closer too him.

“The Holonews is always terrible,” he whispered in her ear, while pressing soft kisses along her cheeks and jawline. “It’s what sells. We’re a galaxy obsessed with tragedy. You know this.”

“I _know_ ,” she grumbled. “That if someone doesn’t step up soon, we’re going to wind up with another Palpatine on our hands.”

“Someone like you?”

Padmé’s head whipped around so fast she accidentally whacked him in the face with her braid. She almost apologized, but he just looked so smug, leaning back with his arms crossed behind his head, with that dumb ‘You Can’t Fool Me I Can Feel Your Every Emotion’ smirk on his face, all Padmé could do was glower at him.

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s killing you that you can’t be there right now to help Bail and Mon get the Senate together,” he said plainly. “It’s eating you up inside that you’re not on Coruscant right now, righting all the wrongs in the galaxy.”

“I’m only one person, Anakin,” she snapped, her nerves way past frayed. “I can’t fix the entire galaxy by myself.”

“Exactly,” he said. He tugged gently on her braid and she lowered herself back down gently to lay on her side beside him. He pressed a soft, sensual kiss to her lips. Bopping her forehead with his. “Give it time, Love. Just a little while longer. You’ll be back in the Senate soon.”

“Not soon enough,” Padmé grumbled.

Anakin said nothing. But reached for her braid again and unwound the band at the end, loosening it. His hand worked through the plait, combing out her tangled tresses. For a while they lay there in silence, with nothing between them save for her quiet, contented moans as Anakin continued his ministrations. Until finally, he said

“You could always go back early.”

Padmé leaned up, brushing his hand away again. “What are you talking about?”

He shrugged, putting up a flimsy façade of indifference. “The baby will be here in a matter of weeks, if that. You can go back to Coruscant once she’s born. Meet up with Bail and Mon and your other colleagues. Help them move things along.”

“So what, you expect me to just push him out and run back to the Senate?” she asked. Legitimately offended that he could think her so callous.

He gave her a placating smile, and resumed stroking her hair. “Only if you want to, Angel. Believe me, I’m not pushing you out the door. But it’s not like you’d be abandoning her. I’d still be here. And you could come home and see us whenever you needed to.”

Padmé rolled her eyes. “When did you get so reasonable,” she grumbled.

He grinned lazily back at her. “It’s all the yellow. It soothes me.”

And just like that, every ounce of residual irritation drained out of her. Completely undone by that ridiculous smile, Padmé lay back down across Anakin’s chest. Tapping her fingers rhythmically against his abs as she continued to ruminate over what he’d just said.

“You’re right,” she admitted after a few moments. “I hate that I’m not there right now fighting to keep the Senate from falling apart. It’s driving me crazy not being able to help Bail and Mon make sure we don’t end up with that disgusting parasite Prine as Chancellor.”

“Mmm,” Anakin agreed. The sentiment making his chest rumble beneath her fingertips.

“But I also hate the thought of not being here for those first few months after the baby is born,” she said. “That’s why I took all these months off, Ani. I want our child to know who I am. I want to be here to feed him and change him and play with him. I want to see him learn to sit up, and crawl, and roll over and-and all of those other weird little things babies do.”

“So do I,” he said through a deep yawn. “I can’t imagine doing any of this without you, Padmé.”

She smiled, pressing a kiss right over his heart. “I just…I want both. I want to be an incredible mother _and_ an incredible Senator. Both. At the same time. Is that so wrong?”

“Of course not,” he whispered.

“Then why can’t I have it?”

“B’cause of me,” he yawned again. “’m so sorry you—”

“Stop that,” she said, not in the mood for where this was going. “We would have ended up here regardless.”

“Mmmm,” Anakin murmured doubtfully as his eyes fluttered shut. Padmé kissed him goodnight, and pulled the covers over them, settling down beside him once again.

“It’s not you,” she said lowly to herself. “It’s me. It’s the reality that I’m going to have to make a choice one day between my career and being a mom. And even though the baby’s almost here, and I’m so very excited to meet him, I still don’t know which path I’m going to pick in the end. Does that make me unfit to be either one?”    

Anakin answered her with a snore.

* * *

Yellow is the color of suns. Its light heralded the start of a new day. It was good for human skin, and made crops grow. It was the center of life for every world and for every being that dwelled on that world. It gave joy to the cheerless. Hope to the discouraged. Light to the darkness. And life to where there was none. Bright, sunny yellow was often used to symbolize beauty. Freedom. Vitality. Warmth. And the promise of a new beginning.

It has never been Anakin’s favorite color.

For him, yellow was every day he spent laboring under the sweltering heat of Tatooine’s twin suns. It was the burning hot sand he trudged through in his threadbare cloth shoes. It was thirst. It was hunger. It was hardship. The only things they had had an abundance of on that desert wasteland he called home for most of his childhood. It was the color of sorrow, of want, and of everything he and his mother had been robbed of living as another person’s property.

Needless to say, he hadn’t exactly been wild about painting the baby’s room this color at first. But Padmé had had months to plan out every intricate detail of the nursery, and she had been so excited to see her vision made reality. Anakin hadn’t wanted to disappoint her. Besides, having no frame of reference for what a baby's room ought to look like, Anakin hadn't actually given it that much thought, except that there should be one. It hadn't been much of a sacrifice on his part at all to yield to every last one of his wife's demands, with just one exception; that instead of purchasing the baby's furniture, Anakin would be the one to build it himself.  

It was a sentimental thing. This room was, for the most part, Padmé’s brainchild. Her designs. Her taste. Her decisions. He had wanted to contribute something too, aside from just being the dumb muscle. And while Anakin wasn’t much for interior decorating, nothing gave him greater pleasure than making something for a loved one with his own two hands. On this, he hadn’t had to put up much of a fight. Intuitive Padmé had known how much it meant to him without him even needing to explain. And with that minor compromise out of the way, the two of them got to work.

Or rather, Anakin got to work. Padmé, too heavily pregnant to be of much help, lasted almost a week sitting by the open window and giving instructions before that became too frustrating for the both of them. They decided after one too many arguments over whether or not the crib should be three inches away from the window, or four, that her specifications were not so precise that she needed to hover over him, that everything would still come out exactly as she envisioned even if she just left him to it. This turned out to be for the best.

Not that Anakin didn’t enjoy his wife’s company. He spent every day thanking the Force again and again for Padmé. For her goodness, her patience, and her grace. But working on the room by himself gave Anakin more time and space to think. And for that, he was just as grateful. For although they were safe here and there was no immediate threat of discovery, there was still an immeasurable weight wearing on him that he had yet to fully grapple with.

Though they haven’t yet brought his disappearance to the attention of the press, Anakin knows the Order still hunting him, which means that he will likely spend the rest of his life in hiding. That his child will still be born in secret. That he and Padmé will still have to hide their marriage. That he will probably never see Ahsoka again. And that if he and Obi-Wan ever do have the misfortune of meeting again, it will be as enemies, and will more than likely end with one of them killing the other.

These thoughts—all of them, but especially that last one—are each their own unique cocktail of shame and anguish. Bringing with them, even more questions that he will probably never have the answers to. How can he begin this new chapter of his life without Obi-Wan or Ahsoka there to share in it with him? How will he and Padmé explain to their child why she can never tell anyone who her Daddy is? Will Padmé ever tire of having a secret husband, and decide that she can do better?

He hammers, and paints, and sands these thoughts away every day, here in this room, and yet still, they resurface. A constant reminder of what an incredibly foolish gamble it is to attempt to build a future atop a past lies, secrets, and deceit. 

But in spite of that, there’s still an astonishing amount of hope to be found standing here in the middle of this finally finished room. Looking at the beautiful handcrafted crib, changing table, and rocking chair that he’d built and painted with his own two hands. At the bookshelves along the opposite wall, loaded with children's datapads and stuffed toys. At the dresser and closet crammed full of clothes and blankets and shoes that Padmé had had entirely too much fun picking out over these past four weeks. At the soft buttercream walls that practically glowed when the morning sun poured in on them at just the right angle. Anakin can’t help but feel a tiny burst of optimism.

Because here’s the truth. He’s made a mess of his life. He’s a hateful, deceitful, arrogant man who has spat in the face of every opportunity he’s ever been gifted and every person who’s ever given it to him. He is the textbook definition of undeserving. And yet the Force still saw fit to grace him with this child. A child will grow up Free. Who will never call another being “Master.” Who will never endure the fear and indignity of living with an explosive planted inside her body. Who will live her whole life in total ignorance of the scars of bondage. Whose body, mind, life, and future will all belong to her and will be her’s to do with as she sees fit, from the moment she enters this galaxy until she leaves it.

And though Anakin can speak nearly a dozen languages, he will never be able to find the right words to express just how grateful he is for this one supreme blessing. He'll just have to prove himself worthy of it. Somehow. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NGL, looking up nurseries for inspiration for this last part was probably the most fun I’ve had writing this story thus far (Ahsoka’s misadventures in the first section are a close second, though). Unfortunately, most of what I had in mind didn’t make it in. womp. womp. I'll probably sneak snippets in throughout later chapters. Special thanks to JTHM_Michi for helping me get my thoughts in order <3


	3. Memory, Restlessness, Meditation (Makes Three)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SO SORRY for the delay. This story was a little stuck for a while. But thank you to all of you who left kudos/comments. They kept me going. Really, they mean more to me than I can express.

Breathe in and out. Slowly. Take your time. Count breaths with me; one…two…three…four. Now back to one…

Two… 

Three…

 _Focus_. Center yourself. Don’t _stop_ thinking; _control_ your thoughts. Hold your head up. Shoulders back. Slumping over like that will cause your mind to drift. Keep your eyes open, you’ll be more present that way. Don’t be so anxious, you’re letting your emotions distract you. Focus. Focus. Focus. _Not so hard!_

“Ani, stop! You’re hurting yourself!” 

Anakin jerked up to see Padmé frowning down at him, her arms crossed just above her baby bump with what looked to be a package of frozen berries held in one of her hands. He was just about to ask her what those were for when a sharp twinge in his left middle finger made him glance down at his lap. Sure enough, the extremity in question was bent far back enough to break. He released it, and brought his flesh hand up to his face. Cringing at the angry red marks and blue-green bruises that were already forming around his knuckles. 

“I was just trying to meditate,” he said lamely, wincing at the stabbing pain in his joints. Padmé looked even more bewildered for a moment, before slowly lowering herself to the ground to sit across from him. 

“Here, let me…” she trailed off, taking his hand in hers’ and laying the compress on top. He hissed in relief as the cold hit his bruised skin.    

“You shouldn’t be out of bed,” he reminded her.  

At thirty-two weeks, Padmé had been put on bed rest by Em-Dee. The droid had spent a considerable amount of time lecturing the both of them on how imperative it was that she not exert herself during this, the most critical stage of her pregnancy. Needless to say, Anakin hadn’t needed telling twice. But this hadn’t gone over well with Padmé, who, though she was loath to admit it, was already feeling chafed at having to hide out on Naboo instead of being in the Senate where she belonged.

“I wanted a glass of milk,” she said. The burgeoning scowl in her lips not-so-subtly telling him to stuff it. The topic of her ‘confinement’ was still a touchy one, to say the least.   

“Why didn’t you just ask me,” he said. “I was right here on the balcony.” 

“You were busy breaking your fingers,” she smirked. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”  

Anakin rolled his eyes. “Your concern is touching.” 

She laughed, and he started to join her before another jolt of stabbing pain shot through his hand at the sudden movement, turning both of their attention back to his abused appendage. 

“So,” Padmé said, repositioning the package to place the cooler side over his middle finger. “Meditating?” 

He gulped. “Yeah…"

It was no secret that this particular exercise had never been one of Anakin’s favorite pastimes. But the nursery was finished and he was all out of projects to keep him distracted. With nothing to do to keep his mind occupied and body exhausted, his thoughts been going to some rather…er, _dark_ places as of late. Hence, this last resort.

“And that somehow involves fracturing every bone in your hand?” Padmé said sarcastically. “Is this apart of some sort of mystical sadomasochistic Jedi ritual a lowly non-Force sensitive such as myself would know nothing about?”

Anakin rolled his eyes. Of course, she couldn’t just ice his hand and let the matter drop like a good wife.

“No,” he said flatly, as a blush crept up his cheeks. “It’s nothing. Just me being stupid.” 

She pinned him with a stern glare. “Ani…” 

And with a heavy sigh, he relented.

“When I was young…” he began, grinning sheepishly at the memory. “Well, you know, I’ve never been very good at keeping still. Especially not when I was a kid. So Obi-Wan used to hold my hands when we went through meditation exercises. To sort of…keep me grounded, I guess. Earlier, I was having trouble focusing. I must have been drawing on old habits without realizing it.”

Padmé chewed her lip but said nothing for a while, her attention seemingly fixed on his hand. Then after a few more moments of silence, she said, “It’s alright for you to miss him, you know.”

Anakin blanched. Was she _sure_ she wasn’t Force sensitive? He shook his head stubbornly. 

“It isn’t. Not after what I did.”  

“Anakin,” she protested. “Obi-Wan loves you so much. He—“ 

“Whatever he _might_ have felt for me is irrelevant at this point. I’m worse than dead to him now.” 

It hurts to say in out loud, but it’s the truth. There was no hope of reconciliation after what he’d done. He’d known that from the moment he made the decision to swear himself to Palpatine. Even if he had turned against his would-be Sith Master in the end, there was no chance of reclaiming what he’d thrown away. He’s gone too far this time.

Padmé stared back at him expectantly. Waiting for the forthcoming diatribe. But there was no point in getting into this. She wouldn’t understand. He loved Padmé for the special brand of compassion she possessed, which allowed her to always see the best in people and believe that anyone could change for the better. But it was that exact quality that made her incapable of fully comprehending what it meant for a Jedi to Fall. 

But his wife was as stubborn as she was kind; Anakin knew she wasn’t going to accept his silence on this one.

“I turned my back on everything he ever taught me,” he told her quietly. “I severed our bond. I-I abandoned him, just like Ahsoka abandoned me.”

“You don’t hate Ahsoka for leaving the Order,” Padmé reasoned. “She isn’t anything close to being dead to you.”

Now that was just unfair. The circumstances were entirely different. Not least of all the fact that he wasn’t Snips. And she _certainly_ wasn’t him. She was better. And her leaving him had been partially his own fault, anyway. Of course he didn’t hate her for it. He could never. But him and Obi-Wan were nothing like him and Ahsoka. 

“Of course not!” he said hurriedly. “But it still hurt. It was devastating. And _she_ had a good reason for it. I turned my back on Obi-Wan because of my own idiocy. Ahsoka left me because she’d been betrayed. With Obi-Wan _I_ did the betraying. I took everything he ever gave me and used it to murder our own kind. I pledged myself to everything we swore our lives to destroying. I didn’t just betray him, I disgraced him. The man gave me everything, and I disgraced him and his teachings in the worst possible way!” 

Suddenly overcome with all of the shame he’d spent the past six weeks suppressing, Anakin took his hand back from her, dropping his head into it. His fingers were aching and numb, and protested the weight. But the discomfort felt deserved. Maybe that was why he’d nearly broken them in the first place.

Padmé’s cool hands came up to gently pry his away, and then he was being pulled down toward her. His head coming to rest atop her rounded belly, as she began to stroke his hair.

“I don’t think you’re giving Obi-Wan enough credit,” she said softly. “You’re forgetting just how forgiving he is. If he knew…”

“But he doesn’t,” Anakin said heatedly. “And he can never, if we want to keep the baby safe and your career intact. And even if he did find out the truth one day and he did forgive me, I wouldn’t deserve it. I don’t deserve anything from him. I failed him. I failed Ahsoka. I failed everyone!”

Padmé stiffened. And then Anakin felt her pull back and her fingers tuck underneath his chin as she raised him up to look her right in the eyes. She placed his hand over her belly and covered it with her own.

“Not everyone,” she said pointedly, her gaze adoring and fierce. Anakin shied away from it, guilty. But Padmé, not in the mood to indulge his avoidance, brings him back.  

Sometimes—and especially as of late—it honestly does hurt to look at her. Padmé is as radiant and righteous as she was when he first met her in Watto’s shop all those years ago. Even now after three years of marriage, under her loving gaze and tender touches, Anakin still sometimes felt every bit the lowly slave boy basking in the glow of some ethereal being. Unwashed and unworthy, and oh-so arrogant to try and see himself beside this woman who was obviously so much More than him. And yet she continues to look at him like he’s placed every star in the galaxy himself.

After everything he’s done, it just didn’t make sense that he could deserve this kind of devotion from her. 

“It feels like a cheat,” he thinks aloud. 

“What are you talking about?” Padmé demanded, the firm set to her jaw belying her confusion and hurt.  

“It feels like I’m cheating,” he repeated. He took his hand away from Padmé’s stomach, but miraculously managed to hold her gaze. “Being here with you, it’s wonderful. It’s what I’ve always wanted. It’s _all_ I’ve ever wanted. Truly it is, Padmé—” 

“But…?” 

“ _But,_ I don’t deserve any of it!” he exclaimed. Just barely reining in the urge to rip his arm away from her, and storm back into the house. “Not after what I’ve done. And I know that _you’ve_ forgiven me, and you say that I can come back from it, but I don’t know that that’s true.”  

He took several deep, gasping breaths of relief at having finally voiced the truth that had been weighing on him for so many weeks. Padmé said nothing. Implicitly understanding that this was a confession he had to get out all in one go, without being interrupted.

“You don’t understand,” he said. “There’s no renouncing the Dark Side. Once you’ve fully embraced it, you can never cleanse yourself of its taint. It becomes apart of you forever.” 

His body began to tremble as the memories of that night came flooding back to him. Weeks later, and he can still so clearly feel the thrill of the Dark Side pulsing through his veins. As if he were right back in Palpatine’s office, slicing through Kit Fisto and Agen Kolar like they were little more than training droids. A harsh reminder of the darkness that still lay festering inside him. Patiently waiting for him to allow himself to get just a little too angry, too scared, too power hungry. Too stupid.

Anakin’s head hung low as he released another shuddering breath, and continued. 

“I’ve been trying so hard to put everything I did out of my mind and focus only on the good. But I _can’t_ because no matter how hard I try to ignore it, the truth is still there. I’m still a traitor to the Order. To _Obi-Wan_. To everything I passed on to Ahsoka. None of that’s going away. Ever. I’ll never have the chance to make it right. I’ll never have the chance to explain. I don’t deserve to—but—I can’t just let it all go, either!” 

He paused to look back at Padmé. Her face was completely unreadable save for her eyes, which were wide and round like saucers. He looked away again. 

“I _murdered_ them, Padmé. They trusted me, and I cut through them like they were weeds. I knew it was wrong, but I told myself that it didn’t matter so long as it got me what I wanted in the end. Worse, I _enjoyed_ it. I could feel their fear and anger and pain, and I reveled in it. And now, now you tell me to trust myself, trust the good man I’ve always been. But I’m _not_ a good man! How could a good man take pleasure in doing such evil things?” 

Anakin crossed his arms and hugged them tightly to his chest. His head remained pointed down at his lap. 

“Your love,” he whispered hoarsely. “Our baby. This chance to start over. I’m unworthy of all of it. I have no right to—”

“That’s enough.”

It’s not Padmé’s voice that hushes him, but Amidala’s. The steely, no-nonsense timbre of his wife’s political alter-ego kills the rest of whatever Anakin was going to say in his throat. And before he can react he’s being clutched as tightly to Padmé’s chest as her baby bump will allow, her grip hard and unyielding. Anakin sinks into her like a boulder into the sea.

“I don’t know how to make you feel better about Obi-Wan,” she began, her voice much gentler now. “I suppose you’ll just have to resolve that matter on your own. Preferably without maiming yourself.”

They both laugh shakily at that. 

“But I refuse to believe he is as keen to cut you loose as you seem to think he would be,” she said vehemently. “I may not be Force sensitive, but I know in my heart that the two of you will meet again someday, and when you do he will have the absolution you won’t allow yourself to seek.”

Anakin didn’t think he’d ever heard anything more fundamentally wrong in his entire life. But Force did he love his naïve wife for trying. He opened his mouth to say just that, only for Padmé to smother his protests with a kiss. She lingered meaningfully against his lips for a few sweet seconds before slowly pulling away.

“Here’s what else I know,” she said, keeping her finger hooked under his jaw so that he couldn’t turn away from her again. “An evil man wouldn’t feel sickened with himself for having murdered innocent beings. A cheater wouldn’t be burdened with the guilt of betraying his best friend. And an unworthy man wouldn’t be doing everything in his power to try and redeem himself. Now granted, I don’t know very much about the Dark Side, or whether or not one can fully rid themself of it. But I do know this, my husband is a good man. And that’s enough for me.”

And with those words, Anakin is undone, and unable to do anything but sink bonelessly back into Padmé’s soft kisses and sweet promises. Wanting with all his heart to believe in them. To discard the weight of the oaths he’d taken and broken, and accept his wife’s assertion that he was still Good despite them. But there was a voice inside his head; the most spiteful incarnation of Obi-Wan, the High Council, and Palpatine all rolled into one, reminding him that Padmé was oftentimes just a little too generous with her optimism. Especially when it came to him.

* * *

They were liars. All of them. Every single one. They ought to be prosecuted for disseminating false information. No legal counsel. No leniency. Lock them all up and let them rot in prison for the rest of their days, for all she cared. Nothing less than they deserved for their treachery.

Because there was not a single ounce of joy to be found in being pregnant. Absolutely none. The holomovies and holobooks and stay-at-home mommy blogs had all been wrong. Or maybe they were in on this conspiracy. This pyramid scheme orchestrated by doctors and nurses and mothers and mother-in-laws and pharmaceutical companies and whoever else saw fit to twist their lips into that sickeningly bland smile and espouse to vulnerable women the wonders of pregnancy. The miracle of growing a tiny life. The beautiful, life-affirming journey that was hosting a parasite inside your womb.

Conveniently leaving out the _wonders_ of having permanently swollen ankles. The _miraculous_ feeling of having a tiny person sitting on your sciatic nerve for two days straight. The _beautiful_ hormones that made you do bizarre things like eat chocolate cake slathered in butter, then immediately vomit it up right after. And the _life–affirming_ insomnia that kept you awake at all hours of the night, cursing the day you ever let your wretched husband reduce you to this.

Padmé didn’t care if she was still only at thirty-three weeks, she had had enough. It was time for her son to come out and greet the world. No more procrastinating. She needed her body back. 

Strangely, the baby seemed to agree with her, as he had been a lot more restless than usual as of late. Rolling around from one side of her belly to the other and back again at all hours of the day. Currently, he seemed to be wedged right at the tip of her pelvis. The painful pressure giving Padmé the impression that if she sneezed just hard enough he’d come shooting out, and she’d be free.  

Just for the sake of experimentation, she leaned back and took in as much air through her nose as she could, until the nerves inside her nostrils started to twitch and burn. She let go. And sure enough a heavy sneeze rippled through her a few seconds later. But the baby remained where it was. 

Blast.

Irritated and restless and utterly incapable of enduring another moment of lying flat on her back while the baby tumbled his way up and down her spine, Padmé rolled herself off the bed and began to pace.

Walking around on sore feet was only moderately better than laying down. But the activity seemed to quell the baby’s excitement a little, thus lessening her overall discomfort by a lot. She’d take it.

Coming out of the bedroom and into the hallway, Padmé wasn’t at all surprised to see it lit by a soft blue glow emanating from the baby’s room. She smirked to herself, knowing instantly what Anakin was up to.

Recognizing her husband’s dire need for a new project to take on in the wake of his disastrous attempt at meditation, Padmé had dug out all of the holobooks on parenting she’d poured over during her first two trimesters. Of course, Anakin being Anakin, his obsessive tendencies had kicked in immediately and, as he had with the baby’s room, he’d been spending every day from morning through well into the night reading. Padmé had ended up having to ban him from their bedroom at night, as the bright light from the books was just one more thing disrupting her sleep.   

He didn’t look up when she entered, too engrossed in his reading to even notice that he wasn’t alone anymore. Good. Padmé hadn’t wanted to disturb him.

The room looked so different at night, with only the light of the holobook Anakin was reading to brighten it. Different, but no less beautiful. She still couldn’t believe how nicely the room had turned out. It was as if Anakin had lifted her vision for the baby’s nursery straight from her head. He had followed every one of her specifications to the letter. _Along with a few surprises_ , she noted as she came over to the wall where the crib stood, and traced the branches of the shuura fruit tree Anakin had painted there.

Clichéd or not, Padmé didn’t think she could have done a better job herself. 

Still feeling fidgety, she went over to the dresser, and began sifting through each of the drawers. Removing every article of clothing Anakin had so neatly tucked inside, and refolding them. Then went over to the closet, where she took every little sweater, jacket, and dress off their hangers and reorganized them by size and color. She did the same with the shoes on the rack on the floor. Clothes taken care of, Padmé moved on to the mini bookshelf beside the rocking chair Anakin was sitting in, and began taking all of the picture holobooks and stuffed toys from the shelves.

“Having fun,” Anakin said absently. Still not looking up from his reading.   

She jumped at the sound of his voice. So he had heard her come in after all.

“Not really,” she said. “But I need to do something. I can’t sit still anymore.”

“You shouldn’t be kneeling down like that,” he warned. “You won’t be able to get back up.”

Padmé caught the barest trace of a suppressed laugh in his voice, and scowled. He had some nerve teasing her about her limited mobility when it was his fault she was like this.

“I will,” she said indignantly, setting down the stuffed wookie and nexu she was holding in her hands. “Watch.”

She gripped the top of the bookshelf and hoisted herself up midway from her kneeling position, before a sharp pain in the small of her back made her drop back down with a loud gasp.

“Are you alright?” Anakin said, getting up from his seat and crouching down beside her. “Does anything hurt?”

“Just my back,” she said, cringing. Knowing how Anakin was going to react before he’d even had her scooped up in his arms. “Ani, I’m—“ 

“This is why Em-Dee put you on bed rest,” he said distractedly, already making for their room. “You should b—“

“No,” she said forcefully. Motioning for him to put down. He complied reluctantly. “I physically cannot endure another second lying down. I know you and Em-Dee mean well, Ani, really I do. But honestly, laying down just makes it worse.” 

Anakin smiled softly.

“Worse, huh,” he said indulgently. Pulling her into his arms and resting his head on top of hers’. His hands came up to knead the area of her back that had protested the loudest when she’d tried to stand. Padmé arched into his ministrations with a satisfied whimper.

“Your son has been crawling up my back all day long,” she most definitely did not whine. “No matter which position I laid in. Nothing helped. He only stopped once I got up and started moving around. I think movement calms him down.”

Anakin pulled back, and lay his hand on her belly.

“Alright then,” he said with a sly grin. “Let’s do this instead.”

He took hold of her hand as he began walking backwards toward the rocking chair, and sat down, tugging her down with him to sit on his lap. He leaned very far back in the chair, to the point that it felt like they would tip over, and then let it swing back up. And then again and again, as they began to rock back and forth in a hard, choppy rhythm. The force of it made Padmé’s head knock back against Anakin’s collarbone. But he didn’t seem to mind. And neither did she. For she had expected the sitting position to aggravate the baby even more. But the turbulence seemed to be doing just the opposite. He was settled. Completely still. Finally.

“Thank you,” she murmured to no one in particular.

“Hmm?” said Anakin, back to reading now. His hand came up to rub absently at her belly.

“Nothing.” A pause. Then, “I’m ready for this to be over, Ani.”

“Not much longer now, Angel,” he assured her.

“Easy for you to say,” she grumbled.

“Mmm,” he said passively. Attention once again consumed by whatever it was he was reading. Then, “How do you feel about ‘Luke’?”

Her head snapped up in surprise. “Huh?” 

“If you’re right,” he said, with a teasing smirk. “And it is a boy, how do you feel about naming him ‘Luke’?”

Padmé looked down at the holobook he was holding, and she realized he was on a familiar page. It was three columns of male names, all starting with ‘L.’ Some of them highlighted; ‘Liam,’ ‘Lachlan,’ ‘Li,’ ‘Leon,’ ‘Laith,’ ‘Liang,’ ‘Lok,’ and finally, ‘Luke.’

“It was one of the names I marked off,” she pointed out. 

“Yeah, but I wanted to see if you changed your mind,” he said. Then shyly, as if confessing some big secret, said “I really like it.” 

She grinned. “You do, do you. Does this mean you’re admitting defeat?”

“Never,” he said defiantly. “I have a name picked out for a girl, too.”

“Oh really,” she said, curious. “What is it then?”

“Not telling,” he teased. “You’ll find out when I’m proven right.”

“Tell me!” Padmé cried, reaching to snatch the holobook out of his hands. But he was too quick for her, and had already lifted it high in the air using the Force.

“Fine,” she said petulantly. “Be that way. But just so you know, I like ‘Leia.’”

Anakin made a strangled noise in the back of his throat that he quickly tried to cover with a hacking cough. Padmé rolled her eyes. But the baby being still had her feeling generous. She settled back against Anakin’s chest and let him have his ‘secret’.

Gradually, the rhythmic rocking of the chair and the calm stillness of the room began to lull her into a state of not-quite-sleep, where her eyes remained open, but she was no longer seeing the darkened nursery. No, now she was standing in the middle of a field. Green as far as the eye could see. The sky bright and blue overhead. And there was a little boy. Tiny, even for his age, with sun-bleached blonde hair. Running and laughing, his stubby legs causing him to trip over himself with every other step he took. But he was too caught up in the game he was playing to notice. The child’s back was to her, which meant she couldn’t see his face. But Padmé knew that if she could she’d find the widest smile in all the known universe, and eyes bluer than the sky under which he played. His father’s eyes.

Padmé’s heart was full to bursting just watching him. She felt she could stay on this imaginary plane watching this phantom child play for the rest of her life and not even notice the time pass her by. She—

—was suddenly yanked her out of her daydream by something…wet. Water. Pooling between her legs.

_Oh Stars…This is it._

It was finally over. It was finally happening.

“ _Yes!”_ she sighed, eyes misting over with relief. _Oh gods, thank you, thank you. Thank you!_  

“Padmé,” Anakin said worriedly. “What’s going on…?”

She almost laughed. He hadn’t felt it. All his power and training and connection to the living Force and he hadn’t been able to feel it right when she had.

“Oh, _kriff_!!!”

There it was. 

* * *

  

_Obi-Wan let out a long groan as he stretched out his aching muscles. It had only been an hour long sparring session, and yet he felt as though he’d just gone up against a stampede of reeks. He looked over at Anakin and watched in admiration as his young padawan continued practicing his katas. Though the lesson had formally ended, he was still bursting with energy._

Oh to be young and spry again _, Obi-Wan thought wryly._

 _He really had to hand it to Anakin. If nothing else, the boy was a hard worker. But he supposed that was to be expected, given where he’d come from._

_“Alright,” he breathed, coming over to collect Anakin’s practice saber and putting it back in the bin. “I think that’s enough for today. Let’s head to the mess for a quick lunch before your next lesson.”_

_Anakin pouted. “Already?” he whined. “Can’t we do one more round?”_

_“Everything in moderation, Anakin,” Obi-Wan scolded lightly, already leading him out of the room. “Besides aren’t you hungry?”_

_A violent shake of the head. “Come on, Master,” he wheedled. “Just one more? We can get lunch later.”_

_Obi-Wan paused, sensing from the undercurrent of anxiety in Anakin’s voice and the dread he could feel gripping him through the Force, that there was more to the boy’s reluctance to end their training session than his enthusiasm for sparring. He turned to look down at him._

_“What is it?” he said. “Why don’t you want to go eat?”_

_“I do!” Anakin backpedaled. “But could we…maybe, I don’t know, eat in our quarters?”_

_“Unless you’ve suddenly become ill, no. Everyone eats lunch together, Anakin. You know this.”_

_Anakin’s gaze shifted to the floor. He dug his right toe into the carpet._

_“What is it?” Obi-Wan asked again, starting to get impatient._

_Anakin mumbled “It’s just…you always have to eat with the other Knights. And I always end up eating alone.”_

_“You sit with the other padawans.”_

_“Yeah, but none of them ever talk to me.”_

_"They don’t talk to you because you don’t talk to them.”_

_“I can’t!” Anakin protested. “None of them like me.”_

_He bowed his head, his shoulders curving in to make him look even smaller and scrawnier than usual._

_“You’re the only person here who does, Master,” he said dejectedly._

_Obi-Wan sighed again. He wasn’t completely wrong in that. But still._

_“You’re new,” he said softly. “Most everyone here has been lived here in the Temple from infancy. We all know each other._ _We’ve all grown up together. We’re comfortable with one another and, well…we’re not very used to outsiders…”_

 _The boy’s head and shoulders slumped even lower. Not for the first time did Obi-Wan silently berate Qui-Gon for leaving him like this. If he wasn’t going to stick around to train the boy, couldn’t he have least passed on more of his patented advice-giving._

_“But that isn’t your fault,” Obi-Wan quickly amended. “I wasn’t trying to imply that it was.”_

_He huffed another weary sigh and got down to his knees. He cupped Anakin’s chin, tilting it up so that they were eye-level._

_“Anakin, I know it’s been difficult for you. You’ve had to leave everyone and everything you knew behind and adapt to an entirely new way of life. That isn’t easy. Especially not when the other students in your class haven’t yet accepted you.”_

_He gave the boy’s shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Give it time, Padawan. They’ll come around once they get to know you better. But not if you close yourself off to them. Alright?”_

_Anakin still looked dubious but nodded anyway. “Alright, Master.”_

_Relieved, Obi-Wan gave his shoulders another squeeze. Then stood, and led the two of them down the hallway and into the cafeteria. Anakin, thankfully, went to sit with the other padawans without further fuss. While Obi-Wan joined a group of knights, Garen and Bant among them._

_“Hey, Obi-Wan,” Bant greeted him over her bowl of nerf stew._

_“You look terrible,” Garen said. “That new padawan of yours’ must be giving you a run for your credits.”_

_“He sure has his work cut out for him,” a new voice, belonging to Tiro Yoan added. He turned from his companion to address the whole table. “Did you know I heard that kid can barely write his own name?”_

_“Well that’s no great shock,” Garen scoffed. “Who’s going to bother teaching a slave how to read and write?”_

_“Be a little more insensitive, won’t you, Garen,” said Obi-Wan defensively. “Anakin’s behind yes, but he’s also very tenacious. He’ll catch up to the rest of his peers soon enough.”_

_“Yeah…I guess,” Garen said doubtfully. Indifferent, and already bored with this topic, the others shrugged and murmured their halfhearted agreement, and quickly went back to whatever droll conversation they’d been on before Obi-Wan had sat down. Now fully irate, Obi-Wan ignored them._

_They didn’t have to say anything out loud. He already knows what they’re thinking. The same thing everyone in this Force-forsaken Temple thought when they saw him and Anakin together. That Obi-Wan is making a mistake in training him, and that the Council is making a mistake in letting him. That Obi-Wan or Anakin, or Force, really, both of them are going to fail this little experiment. That the odds are too heavily stacked against the two of them for them not to. And in his darkest moments, Obi-Wan feared they were right._

_Anakin was immensely powerful, yes. And he had enough drive to do great things with the natural gifts he’d been born with. But there were so many little things that went into being a Jedi that just came naturally when you’d been raised in the Temple from infancy. It is so strange to actually have to teach them to a nearly pubescent child._

_Controlling one’s emotions. Meditating. Letting go of past attachments. All of these Anakin struggles with. But worse was that it was so evident. Obi-Wan didn’t need to tell his friends that Anakin still cried out for his mother at night. Or that he couldn’t sit still long enough to meditate. Or that sometimes he just_ felt _so very much all at once, it overwhelmed Obi-Wan to the point that he would have to close off their bond._

_It was just the truth. Anakin was underprepared in ways that just couldn’t be learned overnight, if at all, given his age. And Obi-Wan was biting off more than he could chew with trying to catch him up in such a short amount of time. He knew this. But there was nothing to be done about any of it but to endure and do the best he could. Qui-Gon had left him this last assignment and he would see it through if it killed him. Anakin would be trained, and the two of them would prove them all wrong in the end._

_“We have to,” Obi-Wan said aloud to himself._

_“’Have to’ what,” said Bant. Eyeing him worriedly._

_“Nothing.”_

_Bant didn’t look like she believed him. But she let him be and went back to chatting with the others. Obi-Wan didn’t join them. Still too wrapped up in his thoughts to care much about whatever it was they were going on about. The scene around him faded away, as he tucked into his own bowl of stew and set to planning out tomorrow’s lesson with Anakin, when—_

_“I said LEAVE ME ALONE!”_

_It all happened in a blur. As Obi-Wan rose out of his seat to see to the commotion, he felt a red-hot burst of anger more potent than anything he’d ever experienced before shoot through him. His knees buckled, and he fell back into his seat._

_Bant, having seen his reaction was at his side in an instant, asking him if he was alright. But Obi-Wan’s attention was on the body of a young Twi-lek girl slouched against the far wall. A trickle of blood oozing from her head, and a small, jagged crack along the wall behind her. The spot where she must have hit._

_Obi-Wan waved Bant off and headed over to join the crowd of knights and older padawans that had gathered to investigate the disturbance._

_“What did you do that for?!” he heard a boy, he thinks his name might be Ky Kassal, shriek. “You could have killed her! What kind of freak are you?!”_

_The crowd was blocking Obi-Wan’s view of the person Ky was shouting at. But he didn’t need to see who it was. He did his best to squeeze his way through the crowd to get to them, but someone else beat him to it._

_“What happened?” Master Ki-Adi-Mundi demanded._

_“It was him!” the boy accused before Anakin could even open his mouth. “Lu’Mae and I were talking to him and he just exploded!”_

_“Anakin…” Ki-Adi turned to the boy. Waiting for his side of the story, in the spirit of fairness._

_Watery blue eyes stared pleadingly up at the Jedi Master but found no leniency._

_“Th-they were—And I was just—and I swear i-i-it was an accident,” he said, tripping over himself in his haste to be heard. “Honest! You’ve got to—”_

_But Ki-Adi had apparently heard enough. He held up a hand, stopping Anakin in his tracks. Then turned to glare pointedly around at the gaggle of horrified, yet morbidly curious padawans and knights who had gathered to watch the carnage unfold._

_“Disperse.”_

_No one needed to be told twice. The room cleared in record time, save for the three of them, plus the injured padawan and her friend._

_“You as well, Ky,” Ki-Adi said in a gentler tone. “Take Lu’Mae to the infirmary.”_

_“Yes, Master,” Ky mumbled, scooping up the unconscious girl, and scurrying away, without sparing a second glance at any of them._

_Ki-Adi waited until they were gone before turning his attention back to Anakin. He opened his mouth to unpack what was sure to be a very long and very cutting rebuke, but Obi-Wan cut him off right then._

_“I can handle it from here, Master,” he said hastily._

_The senior Jedi narrowed his eyes incredulously at Obi-Wan. Irritation at being challenged by a newly minted knight rolling off of him in waves. But Obi-Wan stood his ground. Anakin was his responsibility. He could do this._

_“Very well, young one,” Ki-Adi said tightly. “See that you do.”_

_He turned on his heel and swept out of the cafeteria. Leaving Obi-Wan alone with his teary-eyed padawan._

_“Master,” Anakin said shakily. “I…”_

_“Not here,” Obi-Wan said, sharper than he’d intended. He laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder (ignoring the way Anakin flinched at the contact), and steered him out of the cafeteria and to their quarters. Neither of them said another word until Obi-Wan had hustled them inside and slammed the door behind them._

_“What were you_ thinking _?!” he shouted. Kicking himself as soon as the words left his mouth. He hadn’t meant to start off yelling. But he couldn’t backtrack now. He had to stand his ground._

 _“How could you be so reckless, Anakin,” he said. “Honestly! Attacking another padawan—no, attacking_ anyone _like that, is inexcusable! I don’t care how angry they make you. You may have been born with exceptional gifts but that does_ not _give you the right to abuse them to resolve petty squabbles. Am I understood?”_

 _“Yes, Master,” Anakin answered, in a small, timid voice._

_And just like that, all of the anger and frustration that had been building up inside of him popped like a bubble. He felt about two centimeters tall, staring powerlessly up at a giant’s boot hovering over him. Coming down to squash him like an insect. He_ was _an insect. Small. Insignificant. An outsider. Unwanted. Alone._

_No. That wasn’t coming from him, Obi-Wan reminded himself brusquely, as he blocked out whatever this was that Anakin was unconsciously feeding him through their bond. He raked a hand through his hair, and took a deep breath._

_“Now tell me what happened,” he demanded. Mortified that he hadn’t opened with that, and pointedly Not Thinking about the fact that Ki-Adi had at least asked to hear Anakin’s side before beginning to chastise him._

_Anakin sniffled loudly and wiped the back of his hand along his nose and mouth. A tiny groan squeaked through his wobbling lips._

_Obi-Wan sighed again, and took him by the hand and led him over to sit on the sofa in the middle of their small living room._

_“It’s alright, Anakin,” he said. Quieter this time. “Tell me your side of the story.”_

_Anakin looked at the floor and mumbled something incoherent._

_“Speak up, I can’t hear you,” Obi-Wan said, exasperated. He tilted the boy’s head up by his chin. “Look at me. How many times must I tell you to look me in the eye when you speak to me?”_

_“I said they were making fun of my mom ‘n me,” Anakin said. “Y’know. How we were…slaves.” His cheeks turned bright pink and he looked back down as he went on._

_“I was trying to do what you said and open up to the others. And it was going okay at first. Til they started asking about what it was like to be…you know. And then they were asking me all these questions. And I said that I didn’t want to talk about it. That it didn’t matter ‘cause I’m a Jedi now. And that I’ll only ever go back there again to free my mom.”_

_His hiccupped, his voice getting squeakier and squeakier as he rushed out the rest of his story._

_“And then th-they said that it would take me a long time before I’d be able to go on solo missions. A-a-and that she’d probably d-die before I’d get the chance to go back for her. And I just…I dunno. I snapped. I didn’t mean it, Master. Honest!” He was shaking now. His words running together in his rush to get them out. “I didn’t even know I could do something like that! I didn’t wanna hurt that girl. I just wanted them to leave me alone, but they just kept sayin’ about how I’m stupid ‘cause I’m still having trouble with writing and l-lessons, and how I shouldn’t even be here a-and… “_

_He trailed off into hiccups, rubbing at his bloodshot eyes. Obi-Wan gave the boy a few moments to get himself together before speaking again._

_“Anakin…” he began. Setting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. He flinched again. As with before, Obi-Wan ignored it. “I know you miss your mother quite a lot. I can’t imagine how worried you must be for her, given…well, her circumstances. But despite what the others may have said to you today, you_ are _a Jedi now. You’re one of us. And I know it will hurt to hear, but you need to leave your mother in your past. Focus on your training. Focus on your studies. And if the Force should will it, you and your mother will meet again one day.”_

 _Anakin looked dubious. “But Master—”_

_“Anakin—“_

_“—what if she dies! What if something happens and I’m not there to protect her!”_

_Obi-Wan shook his head solemnly. He had no answer for that but what he’d been told his entire life._

_“There is no death, there is only…”_

_“The Force,” the boy finished impatiently. “I_ know _, Master. But—“_

 _“We have no control over life and death, Anakin,” he said, with a calmness and conviction he hoped Anakin couldn’t tell was a front. “The will of the Force is absolute. If something is meant to be, it will be. Even as Force-users, all we can do is accept that. Understand?”_

_Anakin looked as though he would very much like to slam him into a wall like he had with Lu’Mae. But instead, simply bowed his head respectfully._

_“Yes, Master.”_

_The anguish and defeat in those two words made Obi-Wan’s stomach turn. He quickly smothered the discomfort. This was the way things would have to be if Anakin were to become a proper Jedi. And he would be. If it was the last thing Obi-Wan did._

Obi-Wan scrubbed a rough hand over his eyes. Wishing against all logic that he could scrub away the ugly memory the way he scrubbed the sleep from his eyes.

It was amazing, the memories this place managed to call up. Things he hadn’t thought of in years. Places and conversations and actions that seemed out of a past life rather than a mere decade or so ago.

 _Force_ , he’d been so young, then. So very bitter and inexperienced. Still reeling from the loss of Qui-Gon, while also trying to navigate the fresh waters of Knighthood. It had been difficult enough keeping himself on track most days, never mind the added burden of looking after a child. And little Anakin, so talented, so sensitive, and so eager to learn, had needed so much more than him. 

Obi-Wan has always felt the bitter sting of regret whenever he looked back on the early days of Anakin’s training. But in the wake of recent events, those feelings have quadrupled and metamorphosized into something all-consuming and monstrous that sticks to him like a second skin. Unflagging in its determination to remind him of how cold he’d been. How unreasonable and unfeeling and hard-nosed. Hindsight is, of course, 20/20, but any moron would have been able to see the first time around how lonely and ostracized Anakin was and done more to help him find his place. Before it was too late.

In those early days, Anakin had been a hyperactive ball of questions and enthusiasm. And now that Obi-Wan has experienced life on his homeworld first hand, he cannot fathom how such a beautiful boy could have come out of this wretched hive of scum and villainy. But if Anakin could make it through his childhood virtually unscathed by this desert hellscape, then it was the Jedi who must have broken him. Obi-Wan himself. And he can’t reconcile that. He just can’t. 

It would be one thing if he could pinpoint exactly where he’d gone wrong. What he must have said or done or not done to lose Anakin’s confidence. To drive him into the arms of their enemy. But it wasn’t just one event. It happened gradually. A series of missteps and breakdowns in communication probably starting from Day One. Or maybe it had been the first time he’d told Anakin he would have to leave his mother in bondage. Or maybe it had been the night Anakin had tried to crawl into his bed after a nightmare, and he’d promptly sent him back to his room, reprimanding him for putting too much stock in a dream. Or maybe it had been much later, after weeks of ignoring Anakin’s visions of his mother, only to find out later that the woman had been murdered. Or maybe it had been when Ahsoka had left the Order, and he had had no words of comfort for Anakin but to just let her go. Or maybe…Or maybe…Or maybe…

* * *

 _You are Leia,_ Anakin tells his daughter. _Your name means ‘meadow.’ I chose it because once your mother and I had a picnic in a meadow not too far away from where we now live. It’s one of my most cherished memories because it’s one of the few times in my life where I’ve known pure, untainted bliss. In those hours that I spent with her, there was no darkness. No fear. No one telling me that I was foolish or cocky or inadequate. I was heard. And I was her’s. And in her I was complete. That’s the way I always feel whenever I’m with your mother, safe and loved and invincible. And that’s how I want you to feel every single moment of your life, my love._

 _Leia… you’re made up of me, and your mother, and your brother. We’re your family, and we love you more than life itself. We’re apart of you, always. And with us, you’ll always have a place to belong. But don’t ever forget that first and foremost you belong to yourself. And don’t_ ever _let anyone take that from you._

Leia, not even a full ten minutes old, scrunches up her face and yips out a tiny yawn in response. But Anakin can feel her signature, a familiar tempest of exuberance and ferocity in the Force knocking incessantly against his consciousness. Demanding acknowledgment after having spent an eternity wandering in search of him. And Anakin knows that his baby girl has heard him, and understands.   

 _You are Luke,_ Padmé tells her son. _Your name means ‘Light.’ I chose it because once upon a time a little boy in a junk shop asked me if I was an angel. There were stars in his eyes when he said this. And there are still stars in his eyes whenever he looks at me, even to this day, though they’ve dimmed quite a bit. Life has not been particularly kind to your father. But oh, how he tries. So very, very hard. Not for himself, though. For the people he loves. For us. I’ve never known anyone to love as deeply, as fiercely as your father. Oftentimes, I don’t feel I’m deserving of such devotion. But you are, Light of my life. You deserve every speck of it._

 _Luke… at times the galaxy can be cruel and unfair and corrupt and dangerous. As much as your father and I will do our absolute best to shield you and your sister from it, pain and heartache will find you. They always do. But please, please, don’t ever allow the darkness to claim you from the Light. Don’t ever let it steal the stars from your eyes._   

Luke, with all the wisdom of his fourteen minutes of life, stares up at Padmé with his father’s dazed reverence. Eyes wet and bones soft, he is too new to the universe to have any clue as to what his mother's going on about. But she can feel him, a tender bundle of warmth and light and love tugging excitedly, adoringly at the edges of her mind. Soaking up every ounce of her undivided attention like a sponge.

Yes. Definitely his father’s son.

Padmé looks over at Anakin. Watching as he fawns over Leia. He hasn’t stopped kissing her little forehead--her cheeks, her hands, her toes--since Em-Dee placed her in his arms. Seeing him so giddy makes Padmé's heart swell. After years of being smothered by sorrow and cynicism, the youthful effervescence of the boy she met on Tatooine all those years ago is steadily resurfacing, and Padmé has a feeling it’s here to stay. _Our baby is a blessing;_  Anakin had told her weeks ago when the fabric of their secret life had been tearing itself apart at the seams.

Oh, but he’d had no idea.   

If Padmé had been radiant all those years ago in Watto’s shop, right now, shining down upon Luke, who was himself his own supernova in the Force; his wife was nothing short of iridescent. Watching the two of them bask in one another’s light sets Anakin ablaze, and he remembers how weeks ago; he’d promised Padmé “never again” would he sacrifice his soul in her name. And he meant it. But he would for his children without a second thought. Twice over. And again and again and again, endlessly, if it meant neither of them would ever have to know even a fraction of the suffering he’d endured in his lifetime. And Anakin just has to look over at the awe-struck smile on Padmé’s face as she holds Luke’s pinkie finger between her index and thumb to know that she agrees wholeheartedly. 

And he burns for them.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we start off with Anakin’s Meltdown Pt. II. Don’t act so surprised, gang. You had to know our little drama queen couldn’t get off with just one. In all seriousness, I didn’t want to brush off the gravity of what Anakin did, or only have his family (Padme, Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, etc.) grapple with what that means. These are Anakin’s mistakes, and he’s the one who’s going to be struggling with them the most. But if his thoughts seemed a little meandering, I’m sorry. He’s very mixed up right now, and probably will be for a little while yet. His processing of his thoughts/emotions won’t always be very linear. 
> 
> On a different note, Obi-Wan holding Anakin’s hands during meditation is not something I came up with. I got the idea from a piece of artwork I saw on Tumblr, though I can’t remember the name of the artist. If anyone knows or has a link to it, let me know and I’ll give credit to the artist in the notes for the next chapter. 
> 
> A note on the last section, I know people like to headcanon that Leia would be a daddy’s girl and Luke his mother’s son, and that’s it. But lemme tell you, this ain’t gonna be that. Maybe it’s just a reflection of my own (admittedly privileged) upbringing, but in regards to fiction/fanfic, I really don’t like the theme of a child being close to one parent, but distant from another. Anakin and Padmé are both loving people, and their children are a brilliant mix of both of them. I don’t know why fandom likes to break the fam up into teams, but it’s definitely one of those popular fanon things that really grates on me tbh. 
> 
> Finally, for those of you curious about “Menace,” it’s being reworked. As I was planning out the next couple of chapters, I realized that the story was going in a different way than I originally intended. Because of that, a few things in the early chapters need to be changed. Plus, looking back, I wasn’t really happy with them to begin with. So please be patient. It will be back up within the next month or so. It will look a bit different. But I haven’t given up on it. Not by a long shot.


	4. Regret, Reunions, Treachery

“Let me hold her!”

“You just got finished holding her; it’s my turn next!”

“ _Hey!_ You went just before she did; it’s _my_ turn when she’s done!”

“My two minutes aren’t up yet!”

“They will be in just a few… more…now. Now hand her over—”

“To _me_. Because it’s _my_ turn!”

“What about me? I haven’t had a chance to hold the baby yet.”

“Neither have I!”

“Padmé gave her to you first!”

“I know, and then Eirtaé snatched her right out of my arms!”

“Your two minutes were up—“

“ _They were not!”_

And lo do a group of grown, educated, hyper-competent women descend into squabbling savagery; no better than little girls fighting over a prized doll. Padmé would have never believed this had she not been witnessing it with her own eyes.

“Should we do something about them?”

Sabé, long since fallen hard and fast for Luke and his little baby dimples, doesn’t even bother to look up.

“Nah.”

Padmé honestly has no idea why she expected better from her oldest friend and closest confidante.

In her most masterful act of subterfuge to date, Sabé, the wily little water snake, somehow managed to divert everyone’s attention onto Leia for just long enough to whisk Padmé and Luke all the way over to the other side of the sitting room, and is now smugly soaking up every second of the unlimited, undivided access she will have to the baby for however long it will take the others to realize they’ve been played. Which, at the rate they’re going, could be a while. Spitefully, Padmé almost wants to call them over, because if everyone is being a five-year-old today, it’s only fair that she gets to join in on the de-aging. She would. If not for the fact that Luke hasn’t stopped giggling since being placed in the handmaiden’s arms, and she is loath to do anything to disrupt that most precious sound.

It seems that in addition to cheating the others out of a twin, Sabé has also ruthlessly cemented her place as Luke’s favorite aunt. Padmé would call herself impressed were it not for the near toxic levels of treachery.

Sabé hip-checks her then, pulling her from her thoughts.

“You’re looking awfully smug,” she smirked.

“Is that right?” Padmé bit back.

“Mm- _hm_ ,” Sabé nodded emphatically. “Enjoying the moral high ground?”

“I am. The view from up here is spectacular.”

Sabé muffled her laughter in Luke’s blankets, so as not to disturb the continuing commotion on the other side of the room. Yané has finally succeeded in wresting Leia from Dormé’s stronghold, and now Fé and Eirtaé are pettily ticking off every second that passes on the chrono on the wall. While Rabé, Saché, Motée, and poor Teckla—who still hasn’t had a turn—stand hawkishly off to the side.

“I have to talk to you.”

The sudden sobriety in Sabé’s tone jerks Padmé back to her attention.

“About what?”

Sabé huffed, arching an eyebrow in not-quite annoyance. She held Luke out pointedly, and then rolled her eyes in Leia’s direction.

“Ah.”

“But first,” she continued. Her voice dropping to a delicate murmur. “I feel it would behoove me to mention that Chancellor Monthma and Vice Chancellor Organa have been out to Corellia to visit ‘you’ four times in the past three weeks.”

Padmé nearly choked.                                                            

“ _Four?!”_  

“Separately.”

It was a good thing the other woman was holding Luke, because if he were in Padmé’s arms right now, she could have dropped him.  

“Sabé _, why was I not informed of this sooner?!_ ” she hissed. “Why are you only telling me now? What have they said? What have you told them? What—“

“I’ve tried,” Sabé interrupted carefully. Curling a calming hand around her forearm. “To get in touch with you. You haven’t returned any of my comcalls—which I understand, Padmé. You’ve just given birth. Newborns are a handful, especially without us here to help. Please know that it’s not my intention to make you feel cornered, or to alarm you. Really, it’s not. Rest assured the others and I have each played the part as well as ever. The Chancellor and the Vice Chancellor don’t suspect a thing.”

Sabé broke off to let that little tidbit of information sink in. Then took a steadying breath, visibly steeling herself for whatever it was she was about to say next.

“But that isn’t the issue here,” she said gently. “Please, Padmé. I’m begging you, as your oldest and dearest friend, to seriously ask yourself how long you think you can keep this up.”

“This?” Padmé blinked.

Sabé glared at her, steadily losing patience with her evasiveness.

“A secret marriage? A double life? _A fugitive husband_? Mother of Mothers, Padmé you’ve brought _children_ into this now. _Do your parents even know about them?_ ”

That last sentence cracked through the air like a whip. Padmé and Sabé can both tell by the almost imperceptible change in the atmosphere that they’ve caught the other handmaidens’ attention. But apparently sensing that this was a private conversation, they all graciously keep up the pretense of fussing over Leia and leave the two of them be. Moteé has her now.

Padmé took a protesting Luke from Sabé, and cradled him to her chest like a shield, feeling for all the galaxy like a chastised teenager. Briefly, she recalled the no holds barred dressing down Sabé had given her years ago after the Crisis was over, for all the reckless stunts she’d pulled, all the needless anxiety and stress she’d put her handmaidens and staff through. This right now feels remarkably similar, except perhaps even more deserved.

She is ashamed to admit this, even to just herself. But until this exact moment, the rush of new motherhood had swept away any and all formerly pressing concern she’d had about elections and galaxy-wide corruption and political alliances, and replaced them with her daughter’s first belch. Her son’s first laugh. And the adoring, awe-struck gleam that hasn’t left her husband’s eyes from the moment he’d first laid them on their babies.

But the Senate.

The election.

The War.

Mon.

Bail.

 _Her parents_.

In the blissful haze of feedings and lullabies and bath times, everything that had been weighing Padmé down from before she’d given birth had simply floated away. A tiny speck in the farthest corner of her eye, only visible to her when she squinted.  

Three new messages today? She could check them later. Luke needed changing.

A missed comcall from Sola to see how she was liking Corellia? She’d call her sister back in an hour. Leia had thrown up all over her onesie.

The Senate was supposed to vote on whether or not to increase funding for relief for former Separatist colonies, and she’d been anxious to hear the result. But the twins were finally asleep now, and she had all of ninety minutes to squeeze in a nap before they woke for their next feeding.

Parenthood was, without a doubt, bliss. But Sabé had it right. Newborns are a handful.

Still, Padmé is supposed be better than this by now. She is supposed to have learned. There are inescapable consequences for sticking your head in the sand, and letting the world pass you by while you selfishly steal a few precious moments (or days, or weeks) away from duty to be with the ones you love.

She thought of the mess Bail and Mon had still had to slog through, even now that they’ve won the election. All of the bills that need revising, all of Palpatine’s “reforms” that need repealing. Padmé and her colleagues have often lamented that if someone sane were ever elected, it would take them an entire generation to rebuild everything Palpatine spent his entire career dismantling. And now that they actually have the chance to try, she’s been avoiding them.

She thought of her parents and Sola, how devastated they’d be after they learned they missed her wedding. Her pregnancy. Her children’s birth.

How hurt they’d be to discover that she’s been lying to them all these years. That she’s been hiding this whole other life, this whole other _self_ from them for almost four years now. Would they ever look at her the same way again? Would they ever trust her?

Padmé honestly didn’t think she could blame them if they didn’t, considering she didn’t trust herself very much right about now. 

“They don’t know,” she told Sabé, abashedly. “And I know what you’re going to say, and I know what I have to do. I know, alright. Just…tell me what’s going on with Bail and Mon.”

Sabé sighed. “The Chancellor is anxious to have you accept her offer of a seat in her cabinet, and would also like you to join a few other senators in assisting the Jedi with renegotiating a new peace treaty with the Separatists.”

“That…” Padmé exhaled, her head suddenly feeling very light. “Wow…That’s…”

“Yes,” Sabé nodded sympathetically.

“What have I told them?”

“That you would think about it.”

“Good,” Padmé took in a steadying breath. “That’s…good. I should call them. Explain everything.”

“You’re going to reveal your secret children to your work colleagues before their own grandparents can meet them?”

“ _I know_ , Sabé.” Padmé groused. “I know. I’ll tell them too. Soon. I just…have to process all this.”

Her parents…Her babies…The Senate…The Chancellor… The War.

Wow.

Padmé’s vision spun. The floor beneath her felt lopsided for a moment. Shaky. Like when she and Sola were children, and they would have spinning contests, and twirl round and round on their tiptoes to see who would be the first to pass out from dizziness.

She shifted Luke to one arm, and dropped her head into her free hand. Her temples throbbed. The tell-tale tension migraine forthcoming.

“Okay,” said Sabé, stretching an arm across Padmé’s shoulders and giving them a settling squeeze.

“Thank you,” Padmé breathed. She looked over to the other side of the room where the rest were still valiantly trying not to appear to be listening in, then turned back to Sabé, who nodded. And together they went over to join the rest of the group.

“Here,” Padmé held a wriggling Luke out to Teckla, who was most definitely not pouting at Motée for going over her two-minute limit.

“Since the others have been playing keep-away with you all afternoon,” she teased good-naturedly.

Teckla looked for a moment as if she were going to burst open with glee as she cradled the baby in her arms. Padmé smiled at her, and set a soft hand on her shoulder. As the newest member of their group, Teckla was also the timidest, and sometimes had trouble asserting herself to the others. Padmé hoped she had fared well during their time on Corellia.

Speaking of which.

“I want to thank you all,” she said, taking care to look each of her handmaidens in the eye as she said this. “For everything. You ladies really came through for me at the last minute. I want every one of you to know how much I truly appreciate your covering for me.”

“Pshhh,” Eirtaé scoffed, batting away her gratitude with an irreverent wave of her hand. “You sent us on a months-long vacation. _We_ should be the ones thanking you.”

The others nodded vigorously, echoing Eirtaé’s sentiment.

“Yes, My Lady,” Dormé grinned cheekily. “If you really want to thank us, you’ll tell us who you’ve chosen to be the twins’ godmother.”

Padmé blanched. The pounding in her head intensified.

“Me, obviously,” Sabé boasted, before she could answer. “I’m already Luke’s favorite. It’s only a matter of time before I’ve won Leia over too.”

“Luke hasn’t actually met any of us yet, thanks to your scheming,” Dormé shot back. “Besides, Leia and I bonded while you were hogging her brother. So if anything, you and I are neck and neck.”

“She started fussing while you were holding her,” Rabé said smugly. “She didn’t make a peep when she was with me.”

“Yes, but she actually giggled while _I_ was holding her,” said Yané.

“ _That was Luke!_ ” the others screech in unison, then turn to Padmé for confirmation.

“It was Luke,” Padmé seconded, guiltily watching the proud look on Yané's face fall flat. “Leia hasn’t had her first laugh yet.”

“Here,” Teckla said kindly, placing Luke in Yané’s arms. “Let’s see if you can make him laugh too.”

And just like that, all eyes in the room shifted to the tiny bundle in Yané’s arms. No one made a sound, not even Luke and Leia.

The silence only grew more deafening as the seconds ticked by and the infant’s placid expression remained unchanging. Until finally, a piercing squeal of distress emanating from Motée’s arms broke the spell, sending everyone in the room spiraling into a panic.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s not wet.”

“I just fed her, so she can’t be hungry.”

“Are you holding her too tightly?”

“Is she hot, wrapped up in that blanket?”

“No,” said a new voice. Everyone looked up to see Anakin looming over Motée, his long arms reaching around her to scoop Leia up and out of her lap. He cuddled the baby close. Nuzzling her tiny forehead with his lips peppering her with feather-light butterfly kisses.

Padmé watched, equal parts spellbound and mortified as the storm clouds of what was gearing up to be quite the tempest of a tantrum dissipate as their little girl basked in her daddy’s affection.  

“She was jealous,” he tells them, not looking up from Leia’s still-reddened face. “You all dropped her to focus on Luke.”

Padmé worried her bottom lip between her teeth. Her head continued to throb.

“ _That’s_ _amazing_ ,” said Saché. “You can just…read her mind just like that?”

“Not exactly,” Anakin mumbled absently. His attention still fully fixated on his daughter. “A baby’s thoughts and emotions aren’t as complex as an adult’s, or even a child’s. So I can’t necessarily _read_ her. But I can feel her through the Force. Same with Luke.”

Teckla sighed enviously. “If only I’d had that kind of power when either of my children were babies. Stars, I’d settle for having it now. The two of you have no idea how good you have it.”

Anakin shook off the admiration with a blushy smile, and came around to sit next to Padmé on the sofa.

“We do,” he said quietly, before leaning in and giving her a chaste peck on the lips.

Privately, Padmé had to disagree.

 _Anakin_ had it easy. _She_ on any given day was just as out of the loop as her handmaidens had been just now. Or so it so often seemed.

Her husband has taken to fatherhood in much the same way he’d taken to mechanics and flying and fighting. Naturally. Zealously.

He was always two steps ahead of her when it came to the twins. Stars, sometimes it seemed he was even two steps ahead of _them_. He knew when they were hungry before they could make so much as a whimper. He knew when they were awake before she could even hear their sleepy snuffles from across the room. He could tell when they were about to fall asleep before their little eyelids could start to flutter. He was the first to figure out the exact way Leia liked to be swaddled, right arm over the left— “so she can stick that one out if she gets too hot. For some reason it’s always the right one that cools her off faster. Isn’t that funny?”—and that the reason Luke always cried when he was covered up in the orange nerf blanket, was because “That shade of orange makes him anxious. Try the green one. It’s softer, anyway.”

And he knew when Leia was jealous of her brother getting more attention than her.

It wasn't that Padmé was envious of Anakin and the special connection he shares with their twins.

No, really.

Envy is a useless emotion. Ugly and unbecoming of a monarch. She’d learned that lesson long ago, at an impossibly young age, in hindsight.

No, Padmé’s not envious. On the contrary, she’s very, very happy for her husband. Proud. _Relieved_. He’s been struggling for so long. Carrying so much weight around with him for so long. It makes her heart swell to see him finally begin to unburden himself.

Becoming a father has been transformative for Anakin. He’s not just happy now, he’s content. More so than she’s ever seen him in his life. Balanced, yet buoyant. Unfettered, and not in a way that makes her fear for his life or his morality, because he’s finally free. Their babies have set him free. And the love Padmé feels for all three of them for it dwarves her. Drowns her, along with any resentment or jealousy or covetousness she could feel towards the special bond the three of them share.

So no. Padmé is Not envious of her family.

What she is, is torn.

Especially now, after the conversation she’s just had with Sabé.

The babies were the sole reason she’d decided to take so much time away from work in the first place. Why she’d avoided thinking about the mess that Bail and Mon and the others were dealing with, and how overwhelmed they must be. Why she hasn’t bothered to reach out to either of them to see how they’d been faring. Why she purposefully hasn’t checked the Holonews once, in the six weeks since the twins were born.

But if Anakin’s natural affinity for fatherhood has made her a redundancy as far as care of the twins was concerned, and her presence amongst her fellow senators seems to be so sorely needed, then maybe she ought to reexamine how much longer she can afford to stay away.

But

What kind of person does that make her? What kind of parent?

Cold. Self-obsessed. Career driven. Everything _her_ mother had never been. Everything Padmé swore she wouldn’t be. Everything she had centered her life’s work around _not_ being. How could she, a reputed politician of the people, be warm and caring in her concern for the public, for total strangers, yet cold and distant to her own children? How could she be Padmé for the galaxy, and Amidala to her family?

Hypocritical double-think. Yet another thing she has always strived to avoid throughout her time in politics. What is happening to her?

Anakin’s lips brush against her temple, his warm hand discreetly massaging her neck and shoulders. Dulling the ache in her chest for only a moment, before she realized that he had probably ‘felt’ everything that had gone through _her_ head, too. The space between her eyes twinged.

“Anakin,” Sabé spoke up suddenly. The devious glint in her eyes shooting warning pangs into Padmé’s stomach. “Do you think you can tell which of us is Luke’s favorite?”

Anakin cocked his head to the side, utterly blindsided and completely oblivious to the red checkered flag her handmaiden’s just waved.  

“Padmé,” he answered blindly. Realizing his mistake entirely too late, when the room filled with exasperated groans.

“ _No_ ,” Sabé said impatiently, drawing a sharp, sweeping motion with her hand, encircling all of her fellow handmaidens. “Which of _us_.”

“Oh,” said Anakin. His mouth frozen in that dumbfounded ‘O’ shape as his eyes dart from Padmé’s, to the others', and then to every corner of the room in between. “…what for?”

“We’re trying to decide who should be named the twins’ godparents,” Rabé explained.

Now Anakin is doubly confused. His eyes snap back to Padmé’s, and she can see her demise formulating on her traitorous husband’s lips before he can even open his mouth again.

“I thought you were going to ask Bail and Breha.”

And with that the little womp rat hops to his feet and scurries from the room. Lobbing a harried, “Lunch is ready! I’ve laid everything out on the dining room table!” at them from the hallway. Heartlessly abandoning her to face down eight scandalized shrieks of

“ _THE ORGANAS?!!_ ”

Skillfully avoiding the daggers of betrayal and fury her handmaidens are shooting at her from their eyes. Padmé stands, and takes a suddenly very irate Luke back from Yané.

“Time for lunch!” she announces over a cacophony of protests and appeals. And blocking out all of their whining and cajoling, leads her infant son and a gaggle of sulking five year olds into the dining room.

* * *

Night had been Anakin’s favorite time of day as a child on Tatooine. Something to look forward to after the day’s work was done, and the sweltering, smothering air that surrounded them throughout the day became cool and still. He and his mother used to sit outside their small hut, look up at the stars and tell each other stories about the planets that lay just beyond them. Of all the places they’d go to once they were free, and the adventures they’d have when they got there.

Years of blocking out precious memories of his mother had almost made Anakin forget this little tradition of theirs', until he started doing the same thing with Luke; who, unlike his sister, who only needs to be horizontal in order to fall asleep, has inherited his father’s insomnia.

But that’s okay. They have one another for company. And the stars.   

_Look, Luke!_

His son’s weak eyes can’t follow his finger to the sky but stay trained on his face, glazed over and adoring.

 _Up there? That’s the Christophsis sector. That’s where I met your big—that’s where I met our Ahsoka for the first time. We saved the planet together._

A tiny current of amazement drifts through him. If he didn’t know any better, Anakin would have said Luke’s eyes widened just a little bit.

 _I know, right? We were such an incredible team, she and I. I wish she was still around. I wish you and Leia could meet her. She’s so incredible! Smart and talented and confident and compassionate. I hope you and Leia grow up to be just like her…_

He shifted Luke in his arms and held him up under his armpits so that they were now “eye to eye,” so to speak. 

_No one asked me if I wanted to a padawan to train, y’know. They just gave her to me. Do you know how terrified I was, Luke? I was so afraid I was going to be a terrible teacher, that I would fail her…and I did, in the end. I did. It’s truly one of the worst things your father’s ever done. But, at least she’s still alive, right? She’s still out there. She’s still that strong little woman I raised her to—I helped make her into—right? Even though it ended badly, it’s not wrong of me to feel proud of the person she grew into while under my training…right, Luke?_

Luke dribbles out a little spit bubble that slides down his chin. Anakin shifts him again so that he’s cradled in his flesh arm, and dabs at it with the spit cloth draped over his shoulder. He presses a big, wet kiss to the baby's nose.

 _I failed Ahsoka, and I’m going to carry that with me for the rest of my life, I know I will. But I’m not going to fail you, alright? Or Leia._ Ever. _I promise._

He bowed himself over so that he was directly in his son’s limited field of vision. Because even if Luke’s too young to understand the words, Anakin wanted him to see his face clearly when he says them.  

_I’m going to be good for you._

_I swear it._

Padmé’s warned him before against making grandiose promises he can’t possibly live up to, but this is a vow Anakin knows he can keep.

The wind whistles around him. It’s a rather balmy night for this time of year, so he doesn’t feel nervous about Luke being out in the elements. Still, he doesn’t think Padmé would be pleased about him sitting on the roof with their baby in his arms, which is why he’d better be back in their room by the time Leia’s ready for her nighttime feeding.

But they still have a little while left before then. He looked back up at the sky.

_Over there, Luke? That’s Coruscant. Where Mommy works._

Anakin looked down at Luke, who was still staring up at him with his slightly dazed baby stare, and held him tighter.

 _I think she might be leaving us soon,_ he confesses like it’s some big secret. He feels a little ripple in the Force, a whimper. He looked down to find water gathering in the corners of Luke’s little eyes. Which could mean anything really, but just to be on the safe side he gave the baby another kiss on the nose.

_Not forever, mind you. Just for a little while. Mommy loves her work, you see. Almost as much as she loves us. It makes her sad to stay away for too long. So we should be happy for her when she goes back. It’ll be hard, being away from her, I know it will. But we’re going to be very, very brave, aren’t we, Luke?_

He shuddered out a breath through the lump lodged in his throat, glad he wasn't not saying any of this out loud.

_We’ll be okay, won’t we? All by ourselves? Daddy’s used to being without Mommy. We used to have to be apart for months and months and months at a time. But you’ve never been away from her for that long, have you?_

For a second it looks like Luke is shaking his head, but then Anakin saw the lightning bug that had caught his eye. The boy thrust his little hand out to try and reach for it, but it flitted away before he could uncurl his fist. Too slow. Anakin felt a tiny pulse of disappointment come from the baby and rocked gently him in commiseration.

_It won’t be so bad. We’ll still be able to comcall her. And we’ll take lots of holos to show her when she comes back. And we’ll…we’ll be fine, right? Just you, me, and Leia? We’ll be okay, won’t we?_

Luke, of course, said nothing. The baby was all glassy eyes and wonderment, and a wave of calm drifted through Anakin all of a sudden, accompanied by Luke’s tiny giggles. Almost as though he were saying, _You worry too much, Daddy._

_You’re right, buddy. I’m sorry._

A kiss to the forehead.

_You’re a lot like your mommy, you know that?_

Luke grinned, his little face lighting up under the stars above them. And Anakin was at peace.

He leaned all the way back against the roof, repositioning Luke so that he was lying flat on his belly on top of his chest, and went back to pointing out visible star systems, and recounting for his enraptured son the adventures he’d had during his time as a Jedi.

It was only a short while later that he felt it.

A presence. A new one. Foreign yet familiar. Stirring and triumphant. A hunter having cornered its prey. _Finally found you!_ It crowed.

Anakin shot up and looked around. Nothing. But the signature was still there, growing stronger the closer it drew to them. 

Quickly, he gathered up Luke and slipped silently down off of the roof and onto the balcony of his and Padmé’s bedroom. Light on his feet, he crept through the room, and up to the bed, where Padmé lay fast asleep smack dab in the middle, her body curled protectively around Leia.

Seeing the two of them, Anakin had to take a second to laugh to himself. For all the work that had gone into their nursery, the twins rarely slept in it. He and Padmé tried those first couple of days after they were born, but the twins would start to cry whenever either of them left the room. So Anakin had ended up moving the crib into his and Padmé's bedroom. But even then, some nights found them too tired to make it all the way over to the crib on the other side of the room. Instead, the twins slept in the middle of the bed between them, which the babies seemed to enjoy more than anything.

Co-sleeping at this age is ill-advised by most parenting holoblogs, but feeling how much comfort the twins find in being close to him and Padmé alleviates most of Anakin’s apprehension.

“Padmé,” he shook her gently, so as not to startle her. She grumbled something unintelligible and rolled away from him. He reached for her again, more forceful this time. “ _Padmé_ , wake up. Someone’s here.”

Her eyes snapped open. She shot up in a hazy panic. “ _Wha--_?”

“Someone’s here,” he repeated. “I don’t know who. But I felt the presence of another sensitive. I’m going to go check it out. Stay here with the twins.”

He shuffled Luke into her arms before she could argue. Then grabbed his ‘saber from the bottom drawer of their nightstand, and with one last glance back at his family, stole out of the room to go confront the intruder.  

* * *

His eyes are blue.

That’s the first thing Ahsoka sees when Anakin emerges from the underbrush. His brilliant blue eyes, shining in the darkness. And she breathes a sigh of relief. He’s okay. He can still be reached. She was so worried; it’s taken her _way_ too long to get to this place. But it turns out she’s not too late after all. He can still be saved.

And then she hears the tell-tale _click_ that becomes a deafening hum, and another familiar blue lights up the night sky.

She freezes.

Her entire thought process up until this point has been centered around getting here. Seeing him again. But has she given any thought to what she was going to say to him once she did?

Of course she has. That’s _all_ she’s been doing this entire time. Rehearsing their reunion over and over in her head. And now they’re finally face-to-face, and she’s looking into his blue, blue, not-Sith eyes that are still nonetheless filled with mistrust and danger and fear—eyes that have _never_ looked at her that way, even when she was accused of doing the unthinkable—everything she’d been prepared to say falls straight through the cracks. Ahsoka’s got nothing.

She takes her hands from her sides and raises them, slowly, so as not to startle him. Then closes her eyes and does something she’s never done once in her life—falls to her knees, and begs.

“Anakin…” she whispers throatily. Her voice breaking. What can she say to him, when he’s looking at her like that? All cold steel and open hostility. The way he’s never looked at her before. Not even when she was his unwanted padawan. Not even when she’d been framed for murder. What can she say to him?

_Please…_

_I just want to help._

_I didn’t come here to fight._

_Please. Please. I don’t care what Obi-Wan says, you’re not lost. You could never be! So, please…_

_Please just let me help you!_  

She doesn’t hear the click of the ‘saber. She doesn’t hear Anakin’s quiet footsteps darting across the ground. She doesn’t sense his presence coming closer, closer, closer until she’s being

Lifted…?

Literally hoisted up by her arms and _slammed_ into something hard and warm. She opens her eyes to find herself pinned to Anakin’s chest. His entire body trembling as he clings to her. Clutches her. Tighter, and tighter and tighter. His hands rubbing up and down her back, as he buries his head in her shoulder and exhales a shaky, shuddery breath that Ahsoka would almost call a sob. But that’d be ridiculous. Anakin doesn’t cry. He never cries.

But this is how Ahsoka knows for sure that he’s actually himself. No one else has ever held her the way Anakin does. All full body and desperate. Like she was someone to be treasured. Protected. _Loved_. Not even Master Plo had ever been this way with her.

She feels her eyes well up, and no. She is not going to do this. She’s come here to do a lot of things, but sobbing in her former Master’s arms like some homesick youngling is not one of them.

Only she does cry. And Anakin cries. And they’re both crying over each other and it’s so horrible and gross because she Did Not come here to do this, but Force, does it feel so damn good to just let it all go.

There are still tears streaming down both of their faces when they lean back and touch their foreheads together, and the tattered threads of their old bond slowly began to weave themselves back together.

Ahsoka sees everything. Her leaving. His loneliness. His fear. His frustration. His confusion. And… _that_. It’s unnecessary. All of it. Ahsoka’s forgiven him for all of it, and then some. Anakin doesn’t need to show her for her to understand why he did what he did. But she’s grateful. So very grateful that he still trusts her. That he still wants to let her in. That her view of him still counts.

Her vision of the past few months is then abruptly cut off, and she notices for the first time Anakin is speaking to her through their bond. Rapidly. A parsec a second in a language she can’t understand but whose meaning she can feel through the Force as Anakin heaves her over his shoulder and starts sprinting through the trees.

_Have to meet them! You have to meet them! Have to meet them!_

_Who?_ _I have to meet who?_

 _Brother and sister! Have to meet them!_  

What?

* * *

Wow. So this is it.

“What’s it?” Anakin asked, with a wide grin. He hasn’t stopped with that big, dumb smile since he placed Leia in her arms.  

Ahsoka’s cheeks burned. She hadn’t wanted to say this bit out loud.

“The babies,” she said awkwardly. Looking down at the sleeping bundle in the sling across her torso. Leia is a nice name and all, but Ahsoka thinks Anakin and Padmé missed an opportunity in not naming her Anakin Jr. Her signature is all him. All brazen frenetic feistiness. Leia may only be a few weeks old, but even now when Ahsoka looks at her she sees her father’s fiery temper, his passion, his tenacity, his protectiveness, his righteousness, all right there through tiny closed eyelids. She’s all his, for sure.

“I had this feeling a few weeks back, while I was still looking for you,” she said, looking up from Leia’s sleeping face. “It was like…like my whole body was being lit up from the inside out. But in a good way. A happy way. I didn’t have any idea what it was, but it told me how to find you. But now I know. It was the babies…”

She can feel her blush deepen. “It was how you felt when they were born.”

Anakin slings an arm around her and pulls her in for another one armed hug. He hasn’t stopped doing that since he set her down. It’s starting to get a little awkward, to be honest. But in a good way. It’s strange, because although Anakin’s always been freer with physical affection than most in the Temple, Ahsoka’s still not used to receiving it from him so frequently. But at the same time, she’s getting the feeling that this is the way he’s always been—the way he’s always _wanted_ to be with her but has never allowed himself until now, now that they’re both no longer a part of the Order.

It’s strange, but it’s also kind of nice.

She’s always known Anakin. And he’s always just been Anakin. But now Ahsoka feels like she’s getting to know the secret him. Or the _real_ him. The part of him that he’s never been able to share with anyone, except maybe with Padmé. And the twins. And now with her, too, apparently.

And it’s just really, really nice.

“Where all did you go to look for us, Ahsoka,” Padmé asked, as she came back into the kitchen carrying Luke in one arm and a plate piled high with food in the other. She set the plate down in front of her and took a seat on her other side. Anakin slid the mug of hot tea closer to her and rubbed her back encouragingly.

“Ummm,” she thought back. She’s been to so many planets, in such a short span of time now that she thinks about it. They all passed through her in a blur. “Well, first there was Corellia.”

She sent Padmé a teasing glare. “Nice job with the old handmaiden hat trick. Did anyone actually fall for that?”

They both double over in laughter. She doesn’t get it.

“Ahsoka,” gasped Anakin between chuckles. “Let’s just say, if you had been in my shoes, you would have cut Palpatine down before the War could have even been started.”

She stiffens a bit at that. Then the more she considers it, she relaxes. He’s Anakin. Of course he would make a joke like that. She shook her head and smirked at him in spite of herself.

“Anyway,” she went on. “After that, there was Dantooine, Rodia, Kashyyk…”

She ticked them off one by one with her fingers. Still trying to remember them all.

“Xo, and then Tatooine. Then on the way back there was—“

“Ahsoka,” Padmé stopped her with a concerned hand on her forearm. “How did you manage to get so far on your own? I don’t mean to pry, but how could you afford to travel from one end of the galaxy to the other?”

Ahsoka shrugged. “Uh, I worked?”

Duh. How else do you get anywhere in the real world?

“Worked where?” said Anakin pointedly. “What did you do for the year and or so after you’d left the Order? Where did you live?”

“Worked…” Ahsoka said, getting more and more uncomfortable with the worried, reproachful looks the two of them were sending her. “...cleaning. Doing odd jobs here and there? The captains of the transports I hitched rides on let me clean the bathrooms and work in the kitchens in exchange for free passage.”

Padmé squinted knowingly. Anakin glared at her, one hand on his hip, the other rocking a whimpering Luke in a rather tense motion. Force, even the babies seemed to know that she was leaving some stuff out.

“Also…” she drummed her fingers against the table. “I paid for my way off Tatooine by working in a cantina in Mos Eisley.”

“A _cantina_ —“

“—In _Mos Eisley_ ,” Anakin raged. Then immediately softened as Luke belted out a dry sob. “Ahsoka, what were you _thinking_? That… _pit_ is crawling with pirates and psychopaths and slavers, on a _good_ day.”

Ahsoka rolled her eyes. “Honestly, the both of you. You’d think we were just sitting around meditating for two years. Did you forget that I spent my entire padawanship in an active war zone?”

Padmé huffed in that way she always did when there was some glaring point that either she or Anakin were completely missing.

“But surely there was somewhere a little more…legitimate you could have found work.”

Ahsoka and Anakin rolled their eyes at each other.

“Legitimate and Tatooine is a bit of an oxymoron, Love,” Anakin grumbled.

It’s so weird, seeing them so openly lovey-dovey like this. Ahsoka’s always suspected—Force, anyone with eyes has suspected. But to actually witness it first hand is…really nice, actually. Again, it’s like seeing the real Anakin. The real Padmé. She shouldn’t. But Ahsoka thinks she could get used to this.

“Obi-Wan didn’t like the idea much, either,” she said off-handedly. Then flinched, as the temperature in the room suddenly dropped.

“You…saw Obi-Wan?” Padmé asked tentatively.

“Does he know you came here?” Anakin demanded. His formerly stern face now cracked and frantic.

“Yes. And no,” she answered quickly. “I didn’t tell him anything about where I’d been. He just knew that I was looking for you. But he didn’t approve.”

“Why not,” said Padmé.

“He…” she struggled for a moment. Unsure of how to explain. Unsure if she should even bother, judging from the scowl that spread across Anakin’s face at mention of his old Master’s name. “He didn’t want—I mean, he thought it would be best if—what I mean is—“

“He didn’t think I could be saved,” Anakin said bitterly. His scowl deepening. But the swell of sorrow that passes through their bond with the words bely the undercurrent of betrayal. The hurt. The loss of faith and the widening chasm between Anakin and the unflagging devotion he once had for Obi-Wan. Ahsoka aches for both of them.

“No, that’s—I mean, yes. Sort of. I mean, it’s more complicated than that, Anakin. Please just listen—“

“It doesn’t matter,” he says decisively. His voice wavering ever so slightly. It’s probably just the room’s light reflecting off of his eyes, but for a split second, they look a little dim. Watery, almost. More like rainclouds than the bright sky she’s used to seeing.

“It doesn’t,” he said again. Same decisive tone, but lighter now. Warmer. “None of it.”

He slides out of his chair, then. So that he’s kneeling before her on the floor. His hands come up to cup her shoulders. His thumbs smooth along them in small, soothing circles.  

“It doesn’t matter, Snips,” he said again. Full on beaming now, his smile practically tearing his face in half. Force, she’s never seen him like this before. So content. So open. So _free_. It’s nice, okay? It’s really, really, _really_ nice.

“You’re home now,” he whispers.  

They both freeze.

This is not what Ahsoka came here for. She came to restore. To fight. To drag Anakin Skywalker, the greatest Jedi—no, the greatest _person_ she’s ever known back to the Light, or die trying.

Except he’s already there.

And Ahsoka had nothing to do with it. So what purpose does she serve here now? What’s left for her to do?

This is not what Ahsoka came here for. And Anakin knows this. And yet…

Wouldn’t it be nice? To stay here, and have a family again. A proper one this time, with the only two people who have always stuck by her no matter what. She can stick by them, too, right?

Ahsoka can hear the words—her own words— _I have to sort this out on my own_ , echoing over and over again across their bond. And she wonders if this was another reason; if _she_ was another reason Anakin did what he did. And the shame and regret nearly overcome her.

Until she realizes, it’s not because she left. It’s because she came back. Anakin’s not throwing what she said back at her in blame. He’s asking a question.

_Please?_

So she moves first this time, throwing her arms around his neck and slamming into him—gently, so as not to squash baby Leia. He falls into her, sagging and heavy with relief. He’s not the only one.

“I’m not leaving you again, Anakin,” she whispers vehemently. “Not this time. Not ever.”

If possible, he draws her in tighter. She can feel him shudder with silent tears that drip onto her shoulders, as he once again starts speaking in that language she can only feel, not hear.

 _Thank you._  

* * *

There’s an auction taking place in the market square today. Obi-Wan doesn’t know how he could have forgotten this was happening today. After the first time, he’d stumbled upon one of these, he’d made sure to schedule his supply runs around this barbarism.

He can’t be here. He can’t be here. He can’t. It just… It makes him

( _The shock collar around his throat seems to tighten with every move he makes. He tries to block it out. Tries to trick himself into believing it to be just another body part. When that doesn’t work, he tries to leave his body altogether. Luminous beings, he tells himself. ~~It doesn’t help.~~ It works._

_“The Jedi only make things worse!”_

_It doesn’t work.)_

Remember things. Things that are long past.

 _A Jedi does not cling to the past._ Right.

Except…

( _Something sticking him in his side._

_A tiny something._

_A tiny,_ annoying _something._

_“Anakin,” he grumbled, without turning over. “We’ve talked about this.”_

_“I know, Master,” the boy whispered. “I’m gonna go right back to my room. I promise. I just wanted—“_

_Obi-Wan groaned and rolled over in a huff. “What,” he grunted. “It’s the middle of the night. What could you possibly want that couldn’t wait til morning?”_

_Anakin looked down and scuffed his feet. “I had a bad dream,” he mumbled, hugging himself with his spindly little arms. “’Bout Mom. She was—I know I’m not s’pposed to talk about this stuff. But it’s auction season coming up on Tatooine, and—“_

_“Anakin,” he groaned. “Dreams are just dreams. How many times do I have to tell you this?”_

_“But it’s_ auction season _,” Anakin said emphatically. Desperate to have him to see the significance. He can’t. Ordinarily, maybe. But it’s dead o’clock at night, and Anakin had worn him out with double training sessions this afternoon. He really is not in the mood for this right now._

 _“It’s auction season,” the boy said again. Quieter this time. His voice cracking with tears. “C-can’t we just make a quick trip back? Just to see if she’s alright?_ Please _? Watto's shop might not be doing so well now I’m gone. And he might have to sell her and I—“_

_“Anakin.”_

_“Yes, Master?”_

_“Go to sleep. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”_

_“But can we?” Anakin begged, coming closer and leaning into his face so that all Obi-Wan can see is fear and blue. “Go back I mean? Just a short visit? Just to check on her?”_

_“Bed,” said Obi-Wan. Batting Anakin away, and flopping over onto his other side._

_Already half-asleep, he pretends he doesn’t hear the sniffles the boy tries so hard to stifle as he pads out of the room and back to sleep._

_He’ll deal with that in the morning.)_

Women. Men. Children. Their hands and feet shackled. Their bare skin burning and blistering under the planet’s twin suns, as they are manhandled onto the bidding platform one by one.

Onlookers watch and jeer. Some make lewd gestures at the women and even some of the older children.

It’s a horror show. Truly is the stuff of nightmares. But Obi-Wan finds himself unable to turn away.

Anakin is up there in every single one of the petrified faces on that platform. As one of the children screaming for their mother, who’s just been sold to a different owner. One of the young boys being fondled and ‘inspected’ by brothel owners. One of the men, aged and beaten after a lifetime of indignity and abuse.

Obi-Wan wants to vomit.

Instead, he turns away from the auction and heads in the direction of the stalls. He did come here for a purpose, after all. Obi-Wan buys his staples—alcohol, bread, alcohol, water, dried meats, alcohol—as quickly as possible. All the while, the auction continues on in the background, fulminating and inescapable. He doubles his pace, and beats a hasty retreat back to his hut, located on a rather expansive homestead belonging to a moisture farmer, his son and daughter-in-law. The family doesn't exactly trust off-worlders—especially not Jedi—but have agreed to let him stay on their land in exchange for occasionally helping out around their farm.

He has off today, though. So with the horrid memory of the auction still fresh on his mind, Obi-Wan tears off the cork of the bottle of drink with his teeth, and downs half the bottle in one steady gulp. It burns his throat going down.

The singular beauty of Tatooine is that there is little to no policing of the dubious chemicals that have long been banned from use in foodstuffs in the Republic. In laymen’s terms, you can find the good stuff here. And as an added bonus, it’s cheaper than water. Obi-Wan supposes there has to be some small consolation to life here. At the very least, one doesn’t have to endure the heat and hunger and depravation and _slavery_ , sober.

( _It’s auction season coming up…)_

_(Can’t we make a quick trip back?)_

_(Just to see if she’s alright? Just to check on her?)_

_(Please…?_

_Please…_

_Please, Master?)_

Force, what was Qui-Gon thinking, with his blasted dying wish?

What was Yoda thinking, indulging him?

What was _he_ thinking, all these years? That he was good enough, that he could _be_ _enough_ for Anakin? Had it ever even been about Anakin at all? Or was Obi-Wan only ever in it out of a selfish desire to cling to the memory of his dead Master?

( _The Jedi only make things worse!)_

When Obi-Wan looks back on it all, on all the mistakes he made, and where they all led, he can’t be sure.

He can’t be sure of anything, anymore.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **shuffles feet**  
> So...sorry for taking too long to update. I don't even have an excuse, other than I kept getting distracted with side projects. Won't happen again!!! 
> 
> Anyway, I'm not wholly satisfied with how this came out. But I hope you guys enjoyed it! 
> 
> Credit for the alcoholic!Obi-Wan headcanon goes to Jerseydevious. If you haven't read her fic 2.5 Men (With A Baby), GO DO IT NOW, SHE'S AMAZING!!! 
> 
> Comments still make me type faster, and also it's my birthday today. Not to blackmail you all or anything, but, humor me?

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are love and improve my typing speed by 100000%. It's a scientifically proven fact. just sayin'


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